c> 


'•  There's  a  great  big  God— just  such  a  God  as  you  and  I  have  knelt 
to  when  we  were  bits  of  kiddies."          Frontispiece. 

The  One-  Way  Trail. 


THE 
ONE-WAY  TRAIL 

A  Story  of  the  Cattle  Country 
BY  R1DGWELL  CULLUM 

Author  of  "The  Watchers  of  the  Plains,"  "The  Sheriff 
of  Dyke  Hole,**  The  Trail  of  the  Axe,"  etc. 


WITH  FOUR  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR 
BY  HENRY  J,  SOULEN 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1911,  by' 
GIORGE  W.  JACOBS  AN&  COMPANY 

Published  March,  1912 


CONTENTS 

I.     A  GENTLEMAN  RANKER 7 

II.     A  SHOOTING  MATCH 1 8 

III.  IN  BARNRIFF    .......       28 

IV0  JIM  PROPOSES    ..«••.,       36 

V.  To  THE  RED,  DANCING  DEVIL   .         .         •         •       53 

VI.     EVE  AND  WILL 71 

VII.  THE  CHICKEN-KILLING       .         •         .         •         •       78 

VIII.  THE  "  BOYS  "  OF  THE  VILLAGE  ....       86 

IX.  A  WOMAN'S  CARE    .          .         .         .         .         ,     loi 

X.  AN  EVIL  NIGHT        .         .         .         .         .         ,113 

XI.  A  WEDDING-DAY  IN  BARNRIFF     .         .         8         .119 

XII.  THE  QUEST  OF  PETER  BLUNT     .         ,         .         •     "35 

XIIL  AFTER  ONE  YEAR     .         .         .         «         ,         .146 

XIV.  THE  BREAKING  POINT        .         .         .         .               153 

XV.     A  "PARTY  CALL" 161 

XVI.  DEVIL  DRIVEN           .         .         .         .         .         .     173 

XVII.  THE  WORKING  OF  THE  PUBLIC  MIND  .         •        '.     187 

XVIII.  A  WOMAN'S  INSTINCT        .         .         .         .                195 

XIX.  BRANDED                             .         .         e                        206 

XX.  APPROACHING  THE  TRIBUNAL      .         .         .         .221 

XXI.  INSPIRATION     „          .         .         e         •         •         .226 

XXII.  THE  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE       .         .         .         .238 

XXIII.  TERROR  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .252 

M24621 


Contents 

XXIV.  FOR  A  WOMAN    ....  .26$ 

XXV.  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  RUSTLERS         .  .     275 

XXVI.  ON  THE  LITTLE  BLUFF  RIVER         .         .         .286 

XXVII.  ANNIE        .  •     3°3 

XXVIII.  WILL 31* 

XXIX.  JIM    .  ....  -324 

XXX.  WILL  HENDERSON  REACHES  THE  END       .          -     333 

XXXI.  THE  DISCOMFITURE  OF  SMALLBONES         .         .      345 

XXXII.  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  SMALLBONES        .         .         .355 

XXXIII.  AFTER  THE  VERDICT 364 

XXXIV.  THE  TRUTH 369 

XXXV.  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GALLOWS  TREE          .     383 

XXXVI.  THE  PASSING  OF  ELIA  .....     393 

XXXVII.  GOLD 4O1 

XXXVIII.  ON,  OVER  THE  ONE-WAY  TRAIL  ,         .         .406 


List  of  Illustrations 


"  There's  a  great  big  God — just  such  a 
God  as  you  and  I  have  knelt  to 
when  we  were  bits  of  kiddies."  Frontispiece 

He  sat  glaring  at  the  table,  the  smoke 
of  his  pipe  clouding  the  still  air  of 
the  neat  kitchen.  .  .  .  Facing  page  156 

Also  he  was  gripping  a  heavy  revolver 

in  his  hand.  ....      Facing  page  288 

11  We've  just  come  over  to  say,  we,  too, 

are  going  to  hit  the  trail."     .         .     Facing  page  410 


THE  ONE-WAY  TRAIL 


CHAPTER  I 

A  GENTLEMAN  RANKER 

DAN  McLAGAN  shifted  his  cigar,  and  his  face  lit  with  a 
grin  of  satisfaction. 

"  Seventy-five  per  cent,  of  calves,"  he  murmured,  glanc- 
ing out  at  the  sunlit  yards.  "  Say,  it's  been  an  elegant 
round-up."  Then  his  enthusiasm  rose  and  found  expres- 
sion. "  It's  the  finest,  luckiest  ranch  in  Montana — in  the 
country.  Guess  I'd  be  within  my  rights  if  I  said  '  in  the 
world.'  I  can't  say  more." 

«  No." 

The  quiet  monosyllable  brought  the  rancher  down  to 
earth.  He  looked  round  at  his  companion  with  an  in- 
quiring glance. 

"Eh?" 

But  Jim  Thorpe  had  no  further  comment  to  offer. 

The  two  were  sitting  in  the  foreman's  cabin,  a  small 
but  roughly  comfortable  split-log  hut,  where  elegance  and 
tidiness  had  place  only  in  the  more  delicate  moments  of 
its  occupant's  retrospective  imagination.  Its  furnishing 
belonged  to  the  fashion  of  the  prevailing  industry,  and 
had  in  its  manufacture  the  utilitarian  methods  of  the 
Western  plains,  rather  than  the  more  skilled  workman- 
ship of  the  furniture  used  in  civilization.  Thus,  the  bed 


8  The  One- Way  Trail 

was  a  stretcher  supported  on  two  packing-cases,  the 
table  had  four  solid  legs  that  had  once  formed  the  sides 
of  a  third  packing-case,  while  the  cupboard,  full  of  cattle 
medicines,  was  the  reconstructed  portions  of  a  fourth 
packing-case. 

'I 'lie  collected  art  on  the  walls  consisted  of  two  rareties. 
One  was  a  torn  print  of  a  woman's  figure,  classically 
indecent  with  regard  to  apparel ;  and  the  other  was  a 
fly -disfigured  portrait  of  a  sweet- faced  old  lady,  whose 
refinement  and  dignity  of  expression  suggested  surround- 
ings of  a  far  more  delicate  nature  than  those  in  which 
she  now  found  herself.  Besides  these,  a  brace  of  ivory- 
butted  revolvers  served  to  ornament  the  wall  at  the  head 
of  the  bed.  And  a  stack  of  five  or  six  repeating  rifles 
littered  an  adjacent  corner. 

It  was  a  man's  abode,  and  the  very  simplicity  of  it,  the 
lack  of  cheap  ornamentation,  the  carelessness  of  self  in  it, 
suggested  a  great  deal  of  the  occupant's  character.  Jim 
Thorpe  cared  as  little  for  creature  comforts  as  only  a 
healthy-minded,  healthy-bodied  man,  who  has  tasted  of 
the  best  and  passed  the  dish — or  has  had  it  snatched 
from  him — will  sometimes  care.  His  thoughts  were  of 
the  moment.  He  dared  not  look  behind  him ;  and 
ahead  ? — well,  as  yet,  he  had  no  desire  to  think  too  far 
ahead. 

The  ranch  owner  was  sitting  on  the  side  of  the 
stretcher,  and  Jim  Thorpe,  his  foreman,  stood  leaning 
against  the  table.  McLagan's  Irish  face,  his  squat  figure 
and  powerful  head  were  a  combination  suggesting  tre- 
mendous energy  and  determination,  rather  than  any 
great  mental  power,  and  in  this  he  strongly  contrasted 
with  the  refined,  thoughtful  face  of  his  foreman. 


A  Gentleman  Ranker  9 

But  then,  in  almost  every  characteristic  the  Irishman 
differed  from  his  employee.  While  Jim's  word  was  never 
questioned  even  by  the  veriest  sceptic  of  the  plains, 
McLagan  was  notoriously  the  greatest,  most  optimistic 
liar  in  the  state  of  Montana.  A  reputation  that  required 
some  niceness  of  proficiency  to  retain. 

McLagan's  ranch  was  known  as  the  "  AZ's."  It  was  a 
brand  selected  to  illuminate  his  opinion  of  his  own  under- 
takings. He  said  that  his  ranch  must  be  the  beginning 
and  end  of  ail  things  in  the  cattle  world,  and  he  was 
proud  of  the  ingenuity  in  his  selection  of  a  brand.  The 
less  cultured  folk,  who,  perhaps,  had  more  humor  than 
respect  for  the  Irishman,  found  his  brand  tripped  much 
more  easily  off  the  tongue  by  replacing  the  Z  with  an  S, 
and  invariably  using  the  plural. 

"  Say,  Jim,"  the  rancher  went  on,  buoyed  with  his  own 
enthusiasm,  "  it's  been  a  great  round-up.  Seventy- five 
per  cent.  Bully!  I'll  open  out  my  scheme.  Listen. 
Ther's  Donagh's  land  buttin'  on  us.  Thirty  sections. 
They  got  stations  for  10,000  head  of  stock.  We'll  buy 
'em  right  out  of  business.  See  ?  I'm  goin'  to  turn  those 
stations  into  double.  That  slice  of  land  will  carry  me 
backing  right  up  into  the  foot-hills,  which  means  shelter 
for  my  stock  in  winter.  See  ?  Then  I'll  rent  off  a  dozen 
or  more  homesteads  for  a  supply  of  grain  and  hay. 
You  know  I  hate  to  blow  hot  air  around,  but  I  say  right 
here  I'm  going  to  help  myself  to  a  mighty  big  cinch  on 
Montana,  and  then — why,  I'll  lay  right  on  the  heels  of 
Congress." 

He  looked  for  approval  into  the  bronzed  face  of  his 
companion.  But  Thorpe  hesitated,  while  a  shadowy 
smile  lurked  in  his  clear,  dark  eyes. 


10  The  One- Way  Trail 

•"  That's  so,"  he  observed,  with  a  suspicious  quietness. 

*•  Sure,"  added  the  other,  to  clinch  what  he  believed  to 
be  his  companion's  approval. 

"  And  then  ?  " 

The  rancher  stirred  uneasily.  The  tone  of  Thorpe's 
inquiry  suggested  doubt. 

'•  And  then  ?  "  McLagan  repeated  uncertainly. 

"  Why,  when  you've  got  all  this,  and  you're  the  biggest 
producer  in  the  country,  the  beef  folk  in  Chicago  '11  beat 
you  down  to  their  price,  and  the  automobile  folk  will  cut 
the  ground  clear  from  under  your  horses'  feet.  You 
won't  hit  Congress,  because  you  won't  have  the  dollars 
to  buy  your  graft  with.  Then,  when  you're  left  with 
nothing  to  round-up  but  a  bunch  of  gophers,  the  govern- 
ment will  come  along  and  have  you  seen  to." 

The  Irishman's  face  grew  scarlet,  and  he  began  to 
splutter,  but  Jim  Thorpe  went  on  mercilessly. 

"  Cut  it  out,  boss.  We're  cattlemen,  both  of  us 
You've  grown  up  to  cattle,  and  I— well,  I've  acquired 
the  habit,  I  guess.  But  cut  it  out,  and  put  your  change 
into  automobiles.  They  aren't  things  to  breed  with,  I 
guess.  But  I'd  say  they'd  raise  a  dust  there's  more 
dollars  in  than  there's  beans  in  our  supper  hash." 

The  rancher's  swift  anger  had  gone.  He  shook  his  head, 
and  his  hard,  blue  eyes  stared  out  through  the  doorway 
at  the  busy  life  beyond.  He  could  see  the  lines  of  build- 
ings packed  close  together,  as  though  huddling  up  for 
companionship  in  that  wide,  lonesome  world  of  grass. 
He  could  see  the  acres  and  acres  of  corrals,  outlying,  a 
rampart  to  the  ranch  buildings.  Then,  beyond  that,  the 
barbed  wire  fencing,  miles  and  miles  of  it.  He  could  see 
horsemen  moving  about,  engaged  upon  their  day's  work. 


A  Gentleman  Ranker  ll 

He  could  hear  the  lowing  of  the  cattle  in  the  corrals. 
As  Thorpe  had  said,  he  had  grown  up  to  cattle.  Cattle 
and  horses  were  his  life. 

He  was  rich  now.  This  was  all  his.  He  was  grow- 
ing richer  every  year,  and — Thorpe  was  prophesying  the 
slump,  the  end.  He  couldn't  believe  it,  or  rather  he 
wouldn't  believe  it.  And  he  turned  with  a  fierce  expres- 
sion of  blind  loyalty  to  his  calling. 

« To  h with  automobiles !  It's  cattle  for  me. 

Cattle  or  bust !  " 

Thorpe  shook  his  head. 

"  There's  no  alternative,  boss.  I  can  see  it  all  coming. 
Everybody  can — if  they  look.  There's  nothing  between 
grain  farming  and — automobiles.  The  land  here  is  too 
rich  to  waste  on  cattle.  There's  plenty  other  land  else- 
where that'll  feed  stock,  but  wouldn't  raise  a  carrot. 
Psha!  There  won't  be  need  for  horses  to  plough,  or 
even  haul  grain;  and  you've  got  15,000  head.  It'll  be 
all  automobiles ! " 

"  I'd  «  scrap '  the  lot!  "  added  the  Irishman,  briefly  and 
feelingly.  Then  he  glanced  at  his  companion  out  of  the 
tail  of  his  eye.  "  I  s'pose  it's  your  education,  boy. 
That's  what's  wrong  with  you.  Your  head's  running 
wheels.  You  come  into  cattle  too  late.  You've  got 
city  doings  down  your  backbone,  and  I  guess  you  need 
weeding  bad.  Say,  you're  a  West  Point  man,  ain't  you  ? '» 

Thorpe  seemed  to  shrink  at  the  question.  He  turned 
aside,  and  his  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  on  the  portrait 
nailed  upon  his  wall.  It  was  only  for  a  moment  his  dark 
eyes  encountered  the  tender  old  eyes  that  looked  out  at 
him  from  the  faded  picture.  Then  he  looked  again  at 
the  owner  of  the  "  AZ's,"  and  gave  him  a  smiling  nod. 


12  The  One- Way  Trail 

*'  Sure,  boss.     I  intended  to  go  into  the  engineers." 

"  Ah  -wheels." 

••  Vou  see,  we've  all  been  soldiers,  since  way  back  when 
my  folks  came  over  with  the  first  lot  from  England. 
Guess  I'm  the  first  -backslider." 

"  Nope.  You  ain't  a  backslider,  Jim  Thorpe.  I  sure 
wouldn't  say  that.  Not  on  my  life.  Guess  you're  the 
victim  of  a  cow-headed  government  that  reckons  to  make 
soldiers  by  arithmetic,  an'  wastin'  ink  makin'  fool  answers 
to  a  sight  more  fool  questions.  Gee,  when  I  hit  Congress, 
I'll  make  some  one  holler  «  help.'  " 

The  foreman's  smile  broadened. 

44  Twasn't  exams,  boss,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I'd  got  a 
cinch  on  them,  and  they  were  mostly  past  cutting  any 
ice  with  me.  It  was — well,  it  don't  matter  now."  He 
paused,  and  his  eyes  settled  again  on  the  portrait.  The 
Irishman  waited,  and  presently  Jim  turned  from  the  pic- 
ture, and  his  quizzical  smile  encountered  the  hard  blue 
eyes  of  the  other. 

"  You  said  just  now  my  head  was  full  of  wheels,"  he 
began,  with  a  humorous  light  in  his  eyes  that  was  yet  not 
without  sadness.  "  Maybe  it  is  -maybe  it  has  reason  to 
be.  You  see,  it  was  an  automobile  that  finished  my  career 
at  West  Point.  My  mother  came  by  her  death  in  one. 
An  accident.  Automobiles  were  immature  then — and— 
well,  her  income  died  with  her,  and  I  had  to  quit  and  hustle 
in  a  new  direction.  Curiously  enough  I  went  into  the 
works  of  an  automobile  enterprise.  I — I  hated  the  things, 
but  they  fascinated  me.  I  made  good  there,  and  got 
together  a  fat  wad  of  bills,  which  was  useful  seeing  I  had 
my  young  cousin's — you  know,  young  Will  Henderson,  of 
Barnriff;  he's  a  trapper  now — education  on  my  hands. 


A  Gentleman  Ranker  13 

Just  as  things  were  good  and  dollars  were  coming  plenty 
the  enterprise  bust.  I  was  out — plumb  out.  I  hunched 
up  for  another  kick.  I  had  a  dandy  patent  that  was  to  do 
big  things.  I  got  together  a  syndicate  to  run  it.  I'd  got 
a  big  car  built  to  demonstrate  my  patent,  and  it  represented 
all  I  had  in  the  world.  It  was  to  be  on  the  race-track. 
Say,  she  didn't  demonstrate  worth  a  cent.  My  syndicate 
jibbed,  and  I — well,  here  I  am,  a  cattleman — you  see 
cattle  haven't  the  speed  of  automobiles,  but  they  mostly 
do  what's  expected.  That's  my  yarn,  boss.  You  didn't 
know  much  of  me.  It's  not  a  great  yarn  as  life  goes. 
Mostly  ordinary.  But  there's  a  deal  of  life  in  it,  in  its 
way.  There's  a  pile  of  hope  busted,  and  hope  busted  isn't 
a  pleasant  thing.  Makes  you  think  a  deal.  However, 
Will  Henderson  and  I — we  can't  kick  a  lot  when  you 
look  around.  I'm  earning  a  good  wage,  and  I've  got  a 
tidy  job — that  don't  look  like  quitting.  And  Will — he's 
netting  eighty  a  month  out  of  his  pelts.  After  all  things 
don't  much  count,  do  they  ?  Fifty  or  sixty  years  hence 
our  doings  won't  cut  any  ice.  We're  down,  out,  and 
nature  shuts  out  memory.  That's  the  best  of  it.  We 
shan't  know  anything.  We'll  have  forgotten  everything 
we  ever  did  know.  We  shan't  be  haunted  by  the'  might- 
have-beens.'  We  shall  have  no  regrets.  It'll  just  be 
sleep,  a  long,  long  sleep — and  forgetfuiness.  And  then 
— ah,  well,  boss,  I'm  yarning  a  heap,  and  the  boys  are 
out  on  the  fences  with  no  one  to  see  they're  not  shooting 
'  craps.'  " 

The  rancher  turned  to  the  door. 

"  I'm  going  out  to  the  fences  meself,"  he  said,  shortly. 
Then  he  went  on  :  "  There's  a  dozen  an'  more  three- 
year-olds  in  the  corrals  needs  bustin'.  You  best  set  two 


14  The  One- Way  Trail 

o'  the  boys  on  'em.  Ther's  a  black  mare  among  'em. 
I'll  get  you  to  handle  her  yourself.  I'm  goin'  to  ride  her, 
an1  don't  want  no  fool  broncho-buster  tearing  her  mouth 
out." 

"  Right-ho,  boss."  Jim  was  smiling  happily  at  the 
man's  broad  back  as  he  stood  facing  out  of  the  door. 
"  But,  if  you've  half  a  minute,  I've  got  something  else  to 
get  through  me." 

"  Eh  ?  "  McLagan  turned.  His  Irish  face  was  alight 
with  sudden  interest.  "  Guess  I  ain't  busy  fer  ten  min- 
utes." 

"  That's  more  than  enough,"  said  Jim,  readily.  "  It's 
about  that  land  I  was  speaking  to  you  of  the  other  day. 
I  told  you  those  things  about  myself — because  of  that. 
As  I  said,  you  didn't  know  much  of  me,  except  my  work 
for  you." 

McLagan  nodded,  and  chewed  the  end  of  his  cigar. 
His  keen  eyes  were  studying  the  other's  face.  At  last  he 
removed  his  cigar,  and  spat  out  a  bit  of  tobacco  leaf. 

"  I  know  all  I  need  to,"  he  said  cordially.  "  The  prop- 
osition was  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres  for  a  home- 
stead, with  grazin'  rights.  You  want  a  lease.  Gettin' 
married  ?  " 

"  It  might  happen  that  way,"  grinned  the  foreman 
somewhat  sheepishly. 

"Found  the  leddy?" 

Jim  nodded. 

"  Marryin's  a  fool  game  anyway." 

"  That's  as  maybe." 

McLagan  shrugged. 

11  Guess  I  don't  want  wimmin-folk  in  mine.  You're 
goin'  to  hold  your  job  ?  " 


A  Gentleman  Ranker  1 5 

Sure.     You  see,  boss "  Jim  began  to  explain. 

But  McLagan  broke  in. 

14  You  can  have  it  for  rent,  boy,"  he  said.  "  It  suits 
me,  if  you  don't  mean  quittin'." 

"  I  don't  mean  quitting,"  said  Jim.  "  I'm  going  to  run 
it  with  a  hired  man.  Y'see  I've  got  one  hundred  and  fifty 
stock  and  a  bit  saved  for  building.  When  I  get  married 
my  wife'll  see  to  things  some.  See  the  work  is  done 
while  I'm  here." 

McLagan  grinned  and  nodded. 

"  Guess  you  didn't  seem  like  gettin'  married  jest  now, 
talkin'  of  those  things.  You  kind  o'  seemed  '  down  ' 
some." 

Jim's  eyes  became  thoughtful. 

"  Makes  you  feel '  down '  when  you  get  remembering 
some  things,"  he  said.  "  Y'see  it  makes  you  wonder  what 
the  future  feels  like  doing  in  the  way  of  kicks.  Things 
are  going  good  about  now,  and — and  I  want  'em  to  keep 
on  going  good." 

McLagan  laughed  boisterously. 

"  You've  sure  jest  got  to  play  hard  to-day,  let  the  future 
worry  fer  itself.  Well,  so  long.  I'll  hand  you  the  papers 
when  you've  selected  the  ground,  boy.  An'  don't  forget 
the  black  mare." 

He  left  the  hut  and  Jim  watched  him  stumping  busily 
away  across  to  the  big  barn  where  the  saddle  horses  were 
kept.  His  eyes  were  smiling  as  he  looked  after  him.  He 
liked  Dan  McLagan.  His  volcanic  temper ;  his  immod- 
erate manner  of  expression  suggested  an  open  enough 
disposition,  and  he  liked  men  to  be  like  that. 

But  his  smile  was  at  the  thought  that  somehow  he  had 
managed  to  make  his  "  boss  "  think  that  extreme  caution 


16  The  One- Way  Trail 

was  one  of  his  characteristics.  Yes,  it  made  him  smile. 
If  such  had  been  the  case  many  things  in  the  past,  many 
disasters  might  have  been  averted. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  been  thinking  of  the  woman 
he  hoped  to  make  his  wife,  lie  was  wondering  if  he  had 
a  reasonable  prospect  of  helping  her  to  all  the  comfort  in 
life  she  deserved.  He  took  an  ultra  serious  view  of 
matrimonial  responsibilities.  Eve  must  have  a  good, 
ample  home.  She  must  have  nothing  to  worry,  none 
of  little  petty  economies  to  study  which  make  life  so 
burdensome.  Yes,  they  must  start  with  that,  and  then, 
with  luck,  their  stock  would  grow,  he  would  buy  more 
land,  and  finally  she  would  be  able  to  hold  her  place  with 
the  wives  of  all  the  richest  ranchers  in  the  district. 
That  was  what  he  wanted  for  her  when  they  were 
married. 

When  they  were  married.  Suddenly  he  laughed.  He 

had  not  asked  her  yet.  Still His  eyes  grew 

gloomy.  His  thoughts  turned  to  another  man,  his  cousin, 
Will  Henderson.  He  knew  that  Will  liked  Eve  Mar- 
sham.  It  was  the  one  cloud  upon  his  horizon.  Will 
was  younger  than  he  by  a  good  deal.  He  was  hand- 
some, too.  Eve  liked  him.  Yes,  she  liked  him,  he  was 
sure.  But  somehow  he  did  not  associate  marriage  with 
Will.  Well, — it  was  no  good  seeking  trouble. 

He  pushed  his  thoughts  aside  and  stood  up.  But  the 
cloud  upon  his  dark  face  was  not  so  easily  got  rid  of. 
How  could  it  be  ?  for  Eve  Marsham  meant  the  whole 
world  to  him. 

He  moved  toward  the  door,  and  as  he  looked  out  at  the 
sunlit  yards  he  started.  A  horseman  had  just  come  into 
view  round  the  corner  of  one  of  the  barns.  But  though 


A  Gentleman  Ranker  17 

his  smile  was  lacking  when  the  man  came  up  and  drew 
rein  at  his  door,  there  was  no  mistaking  the  kindly 
cordiality  of  his  greeting  as  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Why,  Will,"  he  cried, "  I'm  real  glad  you've  come 
along." 


CHAPTER  II 

A   SHOOTING    MATCH 

IN  silence  the  two  men  sat  smoking.  Will  Henderson, 
half  sitting,  half  lying  on  the  stretcher-bed,  gazed  out 
through  the  doorway  at  the  distant  mountain  peaks. 
His  hands  were  clasped  behind  his  head,  and  a  sullen,  pre- 
occupied look  was  in  his  eyes.  Jim  Thorpe  was  sitting, 
frog- fashion,  on  an  upturned  soap-box,  watching  him. 
His  eyes  were  a  shade  anxious,  but  full  of  good  feeling. 

Jim  was  nine  years  his  cousin's  senior,  and  Will  was 
twenty-four.  They  were  really  almost  foster-brothers, 
for  from  the  younger  man's  earliest  days  he  had  lived 
with  Jim,  in  the  care  of  the  latter's  widowed  mother. 
He  was  an  orphan,  both  his  parents  having  died  before 
he  was  two  years  old,  and  so  it  was  that  he  had  been 
adopted  by  Jim's  mother,  the  child's  only  living  relative. 
For  years  Jim  had  lavished  on  him  an  elder  brother's 
affection  and  care.  And  when  his  own  mother  died,  and 
he  was  left  to  his  own  resources,  it  still  made  no  differ- 
ence. Will  must  share  in  everything.  Will's  education 
must  be  completed  adequately,  for  that  was  Jim's  nature. 
His  duty  and  inclination  lay  straight  ahead  of  him,  and 
he  carried  both  out  to  the  end.  Perhaps  he  did  more. 
Perhaps  he  overindulged  and  spoiled  the  youngster  of 
whom  he  was  so  fond.  Anyway,  as  in  many  similar 
cases,  Will  accepted  all  as  his  right,  and  gave  very  little 
in  return.  He  was  selfish,  passionate,  and  his  temper 
was  not  always  a  nice  one. 


A  Shooting  Match  19 

In  appearance  there  was  a  striking  resemblance  between 
these  two.  Not  in  face,  but  in  figure,  in  coloring,  in 
general  style.  A  back  view  of  them  was  identical.  In 
face  they  differed  enormously.  They  were  both  extremely 
handsome,  but  of  utterly  different  types.  Jim  was  clas- 
sically regular  of  feature,  while  Will  possessed  all  the 
irregularity  and  brightness  of  his  Hibernian  ancestry. 
Both  were  dark ;  dark  hair,  dark  eyes,  dark  eyebrows. 
In  fact,  so  alike  were  they  in  general  appearance  that,  in 
their  New  York  days,  they  had  been  known  by  their 
intimates  as  the  "  twins." 

Just  now  there  was  something  troubling.  And  that 
something  seemed  to  be  worrying  Will  Henderson  even 
more  than  his  cousin.  At  least,  to  judge  by  outward 
appearances.  He  showed  it  in  his  expression,  which  was 
somewhat  savage.  He  showed  it  in  his  nervous,  im- 
patient movements,  in  the  manner  in  which  he  smoked. 
Jim  had  seen  it  at  once,  and  understood.  And  he,  too, 
was  troubled. 

They  had  been  silent  some  time,  and  eventually  it  was 
Jim  who  spoke. 

"  Come  on,  lad.  Let's  have  it  out,"  he  said,  de- 
cidedly. 

His  voice  was  full  and  strong,  and  kindly. 

The  other  stirred,  but  did  not  reply. 

"  This  is  your  busy  time,  Will,"  Jim  went  on.  "  You 
didn't  come  away  from  those  hills  yonder  to  pass  the 
time  of  day  with  me.  You  came  because  something 
wouldn't  let  you  rest.  I  know  you,  boy ;  I  know  you. 
Something's  troubling  that  mind  of  yours  in  a  way  that 
makes  it  hard  for  you  to  speak,  even  now  you're  here. 
Shall  1  try  and  begin  it  for  you  ?" 


20  The  Onc-Way  Trail 

There  was  infinite  kindness  in  the  man's  tone.  There 
was  a  smile  in  his  eyes  that  might  well  have  drawn  a 
responsive  smile  from  even  an  angry  child. 

Will  removed  his  pipe,  but  the  responsive  smile  was 
not  forthcoming. 

"  I'll  open  out,  Jim,"  he  said  coldly. 

The  other  waited.  The  smoke  of  their  pipes  rolled 
up  on  the  still,  warm  air  of  the  room,  upsetting  the 
calculations  of  a  few  mischievously  busy  mosquitoes. 
The  sun  shone  in  through  the  doorway.  The  ranch  was 
quiet  now.  All  the  "  hands "  had  departed  to  their 
work,  and  only  the  occasional  lowing  of  a  solitary  milch 
cow  in  one  of  the  corrals,  and  the  trampling  feet  of  the 
horses  waiting  to  be  "  broken,"  and  the  "  yeps  "  of  a  few 
mouching  dogs,  afforded  any  sign  of  life  outside  in  the 
ranch  yards. 

Jim  began  to  grow  restive. 

"  Well,  boy  :  I've  some  '  breaking '  to  do.  Maybe 
you'll  come  along.  You  can  talk  as  we  go." 

He  half  rose,  but  Will  sat  up  in  a  moment. 

"  Not  yet,  Jim,"  he  said,  almost  roughly.  Then  his 
tone  changed  in  a  way  through  which  his  mercurial  dis- 
position spoke.  "  Look  here,"  he  went  on,  "  whatever 
happens  in  the  future,  I'd  like  you  to  understand  that  all 
you've  done  for  me  in  the  past  counts  for  something." 

"  Then  it's  real  serious,  lad  ?  "  Jim  smiled  back  at 
him.  But  he  failed  to  catch  his  eye.  Then  he,  too, 
changed  his  manner,  and  there  was  a  sudden  coolness  in 
it.  "  You  needn't  recite/'  he  said.  "  Anything  I've  done 
has  been  a — a  pleasure  to  me.  Our  ways  have  lain  a  bit 
apart  for  some  months,  but  it  makes  no  difference  to  my 
feelings,  except  to  make  me  regret  it.  The  fortunes  of 


A  Shooting  Match  21 

war,  eh?  And  a  fair  bit  of  grist  is  rolling  into  our 
separate  mills.  Honest  grist.  We're  good  friends,  lad — 
so  let's  have  it.  It's — it's  a  woman  ?  " 

At  the  mention  of  the  word,  "  woman,"  Will  seemed 
to  utterly  freeze  up. 

"  Yes,  it's — a  woman,"  he  said  frigidly. 

"  Eve  Marsham  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Jim  sighed.  He  knew  there  were  breakers  ahead. 
Breakers  which  must  be  faced,  and  faced  sternly. 

"  You  love  her  ?  "    .  There  was  a  dryness  in  his  throat. 

"  Yes.  I — I  can't  live  without  her.  She  is  my  whole 
world.  She  is  more  than  that.  God !  How  I  love 
her!" 

"  I  love  her,  too." 

Jim's  darkly  brilliant  eyes  were  on  the  younger  man's 
face.  They  compelled  his  gaze,  and  the  two  men  looked 
long  at  each  other,  vainly  trying  to  penetrate  to  that 
which  lay  behind.  It  was  Will  who  turned  away  at  last. 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  said,  and  there  was  no  longer  any 
pretense  of  cordiality  in  his  tone. 

"Well?" 

"Well?" 

It  was  a  tense  moment  for  both  men  ;  and  tremendous 
in  its  possibilities.  There  was  no  shrinking  in  either  now ; 
no  yielding.  But,  as  it  ever  was,  Jim  took  the  lead  after 
a  few  moments'  silence. 

"  And — does  she  love  you  ?  "  he  asked  slowly. 

His  words  were  little  above  a  whisper,  but  so  tense  was 
his  feeling  that  his  voice  seemed  to  cut  through  the  still 
air  of  the  room.  Will  hesitated  before  replying.  Perhaps 
he  was  reckoning  up  Jim's  chances  as  compared  with  his 


22  The  One- Way  Trail 

own.  Finally,  he  was  reluctantly  compelled  to  make  an 
admission. 

44 1  don't  know — yet." 

The  other  sighed  audibly.  Then  he  mechanically  be- 
gan to  refill  his  pipe.  He  wanted  to  speak,  but  there 
seemed  to  be  nothing  adequate  to  say.  Two  men,  virile, 
thrilling  with  the  ripe,  red  blood  of  perfect  manhood, 
friends,  and — a  woman  stood  between  them. 

"  It's  no  good,"  Jim  said,  preparing  to  light  his  pipe. 
"The  position  is — impossible." 

"  Yes." 

Now  both  pipes  were  smoking  as  under  a  forced 
draught. 

"  I'd  give  my  life  for  her,"  the  elder  muttered,  almost 
unconsciously. 

Will  caught  at  his  words. 

"  My  life  is  hers,"  he  cried,  almost  defiantly. 

They  were  no  further  on. 

"  Can  you — suggest ?  " 

Will  shook  his  head.  The  snow  on  the  distant  peaks 
glistened  like  diamonds  in  the  gorgeous  sunlight,  and  his 
attention  seemed  riveted  upon  it. 

11  What  pay  are  you  making,  Will  ? "  Jim  inquired 
presently. 

"  Eighty  dollars  a  month — why  ?  " 

"  Ten  more  than  me."  Jim  laughed  harshly.  "  You're 
the  better  match.  You're  younger,  too." 

"  She's  got  a  wad  of  her  own.  A  thousand  dollars," 
added  Will. 

His  remark  was  unpleasing,  and  Jim's  eyes  grew  colder. 

"  That  don't  cut  any  figure.  That's  hers,"  he  said 
sharply. 


A  Shooting  Match  23 

"  But— it's  useful " 

«  To  her— maybe." 

The  flow  of  their  talk  dried  up  again.  They  could 
make  no  headway  in  clearing  up  their  dilemma.  To  Jim 
each  passing  moment  was  making  things  harder ;  with 
each  passing  moment  their  friendship  was  straining  under 
the  pressure.  Suddenly  a  thought  flashed  through  his 
brain.  It  was  a  light  of  hope,  where,  before,  all  had  been 
darkness. 

"  I  haven't  asked  her  yet,"  he  said.  "  And  you — you 
haven't?" 

"  No." 

"  Say,  we're  sailing  an  uncharted  sea,  and — there's  a 
fog." 

It  was  a  reluctant  nod  Jim  received  in  reply. 

"  We'll  have  to  ask  her,"  he  went  on.  "  She  can't 
marry  us  both.  Maybe  she'll  marry  neither." 

"That's  so."  Jim  failed  to  observe  Will's  smile  of 
confidence.  "  Yes,  we'll  both  ask  her.  I've  got  to  go 
through  BarnrifT  on  my  way  to  the  hills.  I'll  call  and 
see  her.  You  can  ride  in  this  evening." 

Jim  shook  his  head. 

"  Guess  that's  an  elegant  plan — for  you." 

Quick  as  a  flash  Will  turned  on  him.  His  volcanic 
anger  rose  swiftly. 

"  What  d'you  mean  ?  " 

41  Just  what  I  say."  Jim's  response  seemed  to  have 
less  friendliness  in  it.  Then  he  knocked  his  pipe  out, 
and  rose  from  his  seat.  "  No,  boy,"  he  said.  "  We'll 
just  play  the  game  right  here.  We'll  take  a  chance  for 
who  goes  to  her  first.  If  she  wants  neither  of  us — well, 
we'll  have  played  the  game  by  each  other,  anyway.  And 


24  The  One- Way  Trail 

if  she  chooses  either  of  us  then  the  other  must  take  his 
medicine  like  a  man.  Let's — be  sportsmen." 

"  What's  your  game  ? "  There  was  no  yielding  in 
Will's  sharp  question. 

"Just  this." 

Jim  leaned  forward,  holding  his  empty  pipe  to  point 
his  words.  There  was  a  glow  of  excited  interest  in  his 
eyes  as  he  propounded  his  idea.  With  Will  it  was  dif- 
ferent. He  sat  frigidly  listening.  If  through  any  gen- 
erosity he  lost  Eve,  he  would  never  forgive  himself — he 
would  never  forgive  Jim.  He  must  have  her  for  his  own. 
His  love  for  her  was  a  far  greater  thing,  he  told  himself, 
than  the  colder  Jim's  could  ever  be.  He  could  not  un- 
derstand that  Jim,  in  offering  his  plan,  merely  wanted  to 
be  fair,  merely  wanted  to  arrange  things  so  that  Eve 
should  not  come  between  them,  that  neither  should  be 
able  to  reproach  the  other  for  any  advantage  taken.  He 
suspected  trickery.  Nor  had  he  any  right  to  such 
base  suspicion.  Jim's  idea  was  one  to  make  their  way 
easier.  Eve  would  choose  whom  she  pleased — if  either 
of  them.  He  could  not,  did  not  want  to  alter  that. 
Whatever  the  result  of  her  choice  he  was  ready  to  ac- 
cept it. 

He  pointed  at  the  revolvers  hanging  on  the  wall. 

"  They  shall  decide  who  has  first  speak  with  her,"  he 
said.  "  We'll  empty  six  at  a  mark,  and  the  one  who  does 
the  best  shooting  has — first  go  in." 

Will  shrugged. 

"  I  don't  like  it." 

11  It's  the  best  way.  We're  a  fair  match.  You're 
reckoned  the  boss  shot  in  the  hills,  and  I  don't  guess 
there's  any  one  on  this  ranch  handier  than  I  am.  We've 


A  Shooting  Match  25 

both  played  with  those  two  guns  a  heap.  It'll  save  bad 
blood  between  us.  What  say  ?  " 

Will  shook  his  head. 

"It's  bad.  Still-  He  looked  at  the  guns.  He 

was  thinking  swiftly.  He  knew  that  he  was  a  wonderful 
shot  with  a  revolver.  He  was  in  constant  practice,  too. 
Jim  was  a  good  shot,  but  then  his  practice  was  very  lim- 
ited. Yes,  the  chances  were  all  in  his  favor. 

44  Get  busy  then,"  he  said  presently,  with  apparent  re- 
luctance. 

He  rose  and  moved  toward  the  guns. 

"  Whose  choice  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Nor  did  he  observe  the  other's  smile  as  he  received 
his  reply. 

"  It's  yours." 

While  Will  chose  his  weapon  with  studied  care,  Jim 
picked  up  the  soap  box  and  fumbled  through  his  pockets 
till  he  found  a  piece  of  chalk.  With  this  he  drew  a 
bull's-eye  on  the  bottom  of  the  box,  and  sketched  two 
rough  circles  around  it.  Will  had  made  his  choice  of 
weapons  by  the  time  the  target  was  completed. 

41  Will  it  do  ?  "  Jim  inquired,  holding  up  the  box  for 
his  inspection. 

44  It's  got  to,"  was  the  churlish  reply. 

Jim  gave  him  a  quick  glance  as  he  moved  across  the 
room  and  possessed  himself  of  the  remaining  pistol. 
Then  he  examined  its  chambers  and  silently  led  the  way 
out  of  the  hut. 

They  left  the  ranch  buildings  and  moved  out  upon  the 
prairie.  A  spot  was  selected,  and  the  box  set  down. 
Then  Jim  paced  off  sixty  yards. 

"  Sixty,"  he  said,  as  he  came  to  a  halt. 


26  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Sixty,"  agreed  Will,  who  had  paced  beside  him. 

11  it's  your  choice.     Will  you — get  busy  ?  " 

«  All  right." 

Will  stepped  on  to  the  mark  confidently,  raising  his 
gun  with  the  surety  of  a  man  who  does  not  know  what 
it  means  to  miss.  Yet,  before  dropping  the  hammer,  he 
braced  himself  with  unusual  care. 

"  Plonk  ! "  The  bullet  struck  the  box.  He  had  found 
his  mark,  and  in  rapid  succession  the  remaining  five  cham- 
bers of  his  gun  were  emptied.  Each  shot  found  its  mark 
with  deadly  accuracy,  for  Will  meant  to  win  the  contest. 

Then  they  set  out  to  inspect  the  target.  Will  led 
now.  He  was  eager  to  ascertain  the  actual  result.  An 
exclamation  of  joy  broke  from  him  as  he  snatched  up  the 
box.  The  bull's-eye  was  about  two  inches  in  diameter  ; 
one  of  his  shots  had  passed  through  it,  three  had  broken 
its  outer  line,  while  the  other  two  were  within  a  quarter 
of  an  inch  of  the  little  white  patch.  All  six  shots  could 
have  been  covered  by  a  three-inch  circle. 

"  Good,"  cried  Thorpe.  And  he  turned  the  box  round 
and  drew  another  target  on  its  side. 

The  new  bull's-eye  was  a  shade  smaller.  It  may  have 
been  accident.  It  may  have  been  that  Jim  preferred  to 
make  his  own  task  more  difficult  than  err  on  the  side  of 
his  own  advantage.  Will  said  nothing,  and  they  walked 
back  to  the  firing  point. 

Jim  lifted  his  gun  and  fired.  His  shots  rang  out  like 
the  rattle  of  a  maxim  gun,  so  swiftly  did  he  empty  the  six 
chambers.  In  a  few  moments  they  were  once  more  on 
their  way  to  inspect  the  target. 

Five  bullets  had  passed  through  the  bull's-eye,  the 
sixth  had  broken  its  line. 


A  Shooting  Match  27 

"  I  shall  see  Eve  to-morrow  morning,"  said  Jim 
quietly.  4<  You  can  see  her  later." 

Without  a  word  Will  turned  away,  and  moved  off 
toward  the  ranch.  Jim  followed  him.  Nor  was  a  word 
exchanged  between  them  till  the  hut  was  reached,  and 
Will  had  unhitched  his  horse  from  the  tying-post. 

"  Going  ?  "  inquired  Jim,  for  something  to  say. 

••  Yes." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  younger  man's  tone,  and 
his  friend  looked  away  while  he  leaped  into  the  saddle. 

Jim  seemed  to  have  drawn  none  of  the  satisfaction 
which  the  winning  of  the  match  should  have  afforded 
him,  for  he  flung  the  box  which  he  had  been  carrying 
aside  as  though  it  had  offended  him.  He  wanted  to 
speak,  he  wanted  to  say  something  pleasant.  He  wanted 
to  banish  that  surly  look  from  Will's  eyes  ;  but  somehow 
he  could  find  nothing  to  say,  nothing  to  do.  He  looked 
on  while  the  other  lifted  his  reins  to  ride  off.  Then,  in 
desperation,  he  came  up  to  the  horse's  shoulder. 

"  Shake,  Will,'1  he  said. 

It  was  the  effort  of  a  big  heart  striving  to  retain  a 
precious  friendship  which  he  felt  was  slipping  away  from 
him. 

But  Will  did  not  see  the  outstretched  hand.  He 
hustled  his  horse,  and,  in  moving  off,  his  own  right  foot 
struck  the  waiting  man  violently.  It  was  almost  as 
though  he  had  kicked  him. 

Jim  watched  him  go  with  regretful  eyes.  Then,  as 
the  man  disappeared  among  the  ranch  buildings,  he 
turned  and  slowly  made  his  way  to  the  bunk  house  of  the 
horse-breakers. 


CHAPTER  III 

IN   BARNRIFF 

IT  has  been  said  that  the  pretentiousness  of  a  newly 
carpentered  Western  American  settlement  can  only  be 
compared  to  the  "  side  "  of  a  nigger  wench,  weighted 
down  under  the  gaudy  burden  of  her  Emancipation  Day 
holiday  gown.  Although,  in  many  cases,  the  analogy  is 
not  without  aptness,  yet,  in  frequent  instances,  it  would 
be  a  distinct  libel.  At  any  rate,  Barnriff  boasted  noth- 
ing of  pretentiousness.  Certainly  Barnriff  was  not  newly 
carpentered.  Probably  it  never  had  been. 

It  was  one  of  those  places  that  just  grow  from  a  tiny 
seedling ;  and,  to  judge  by  the  anemic  result  of  its  effort, 
that  original  seedling  could  have  been  little  better  than  a 
"  scratching  "  post  on  an  ill-cared-for  farm,  or  perhaps  a 
storm  shelter.  Certainly  it  could  not  have  risen  above  an 
implement  shed  in  the  ranks  of  structural  art.  The  gen- 
eral impression  was  in  favor  of  the  "  scratching  "  post,  for 
one  expects  to  grow  something  better  than  weeds  on  a 
rich  loam  soil. 

The  architept  of  Barnriff — if  he  ever  existed — was  prob- 
ably a  drunkard,  not  an  uncommon  complaint  in  that 
settlement,  or  a  person  qualified  for  the  state  asylum. 
The  inference  is  drawn  from  strong  circumstantial  evi- 
dence, and  not  from  prejudice.  As  witness,  the  saloon 
seemed  to  have  claimed  his  most  serious  effort  as  a  piece 
of  finished  construction.  Here  his  weakness  peeps 


In  Barnriff  29 

through  in  no  uncertain  manner.  The  bar  occupies  at 
least  half  of  the  building,  and  the  fittings  of  it  are  large 
enough  to  accommodate  sufficient  alcohol  for  an  average 
man  to  swim  in.  His  imagination  must  have  been  fully 
extended  in  this  design,  for  the  result  suggested  its  hav- 
ing been  something  in  the  nature  of  a  labor  of  affection. 
The  other  half  of  the  building  was  divided  up  into  three 
rooms  :  a  tiny  dining-room  (obviously  the  pleasures  of  the 
table  had  no  great  appeal  for  him),  a  small  bedroom  for 
the  proprietor  (who  seemed  to  have  been  considered  least 
of  all),  and  one  vast  dormitory,  to  accommodate  those 
whose  misfortunes  of  the  evening  made  them  physically 
incapable  of  negotiating  the  intricacies  of  the  village  on 
their  way  home. 

Of  course,  this  evidence  might  easily  have  been 
nullified,  or  even  have  been  turned  to  the  architect's 
favor,  had  the  rest  of  the  village  borne  testimony  for 
him.  A  clever  counsel  defending  would  probably  have 
declared  that  the  architect  knew  the  people  of  the  village, 
and  was  merely  supplying  their  wants.  Of  course  he 
knew  them,  and  their  wants — he  was  probably  one  of 
them. 

However,  the  rest  of  the  village  was  all  against  him. 
Had  he  been  an  abstemious  man,  there  is  no  doubt  but 
the  village  market-place  would  have  been  a  square,  or  a 
triangle,  an  oval,  a  circle,  or — well,  some  definite  shape. 
As  it  was,  it  had  no  definite  shape.  It  was  not  even  ir- 
regular. It  was  nothing — just  a  space,  with  no  apparent 
defining  line. 

Then  there  were  no  definite  roads — at  least,  the  roads 
seemed  to  have  happened,  and  ran  just  where  the  houses 
permitted  them.  It  was  a  reversal  of  ordinary  civilized 


30  The  One- Way  Trail 

methods,  which  possibly  had  its  advantages.  There  were 
certainly  no  straight  lines  for  the  men-folk  to  walk  after 
leaving  the  saloon  at  night  for  their  homes. 

As  for  the  houses  which  composed  the  village,  they 
were  too  uncertain  to  be  described  in  any  but  a  general 
view  of  their  design,  and  their  grouping.  In  the  latter, 
of  course,  the  evidence  was  all  against  the  designer  of  the 
place.  Who  but  a  madman  or  a  drunkard  would  set  up 
a  laundry  next  to  the  coal  yard  ? 

Then  another  thing.  Two  churches — they  called 
them  "  churches  "  in  BarnrifF — of  different  denomination, 
side  by  side.  On  Sundays  the  discord  that  went  on  was 
painful.  The  voices  of  the  preachers  were  in  endless  con- 
flict through  the  thin  weather-boarding  sides,  and  when 
the  rival  harmoniums  "  got  busy  "  there  was  nothing  left 
for  the  confused  congregations  but  to  chant  their  rival 
hymns  to  some  popular  national  tune  upon  which  they 
were  mutually  agreed  beforehand.  The  incongruities  of 
this  sort  were  so  many  that  even  the  most  optimistic 
could  not  pass  them  unheeded. 

As  regards  the  style  of  the  buildings  themselves,  the 
less  said  about  them  the  better.  They  were  buildings, 
no  one  could  deny  that ;  but  even  an  impressionist 
painter  could  claim  no  beauty  for  them.  Windows  and 
doors,  weather-boarding,  and  shingle  roof.  One  need 
say  no  more,  except  that  they  were,  in  the  main,  weather- 
proof. But  wait.  There  was  one  little  house  that  had  a 
verandah  and  creepers  growing  around  it.  It  was  well 
painted,  too,  and  stood  out  amongst  its  frowzy  neigh- 
bors a  thing  approaching  beauty. 

But  BarnrifT,  as  a  residential  hamlet,  was  hardly  worth 
considering  seriously.  It  was  a  topsyturvy  sort  of  place, 


In  Barnriff  31 

and  its  methods  were  in  keeping  with  its  design.  It  was 
full  of  unique  combinations  of  trade.  Some  of  them 
were  hardly  justifiable.  The  doctor  of  the  place  was  also 
a  horse-dealer,  with  a  side  line  in  the  veterinary  business. 
Any  tooth  extraction  needed  was  forcibly  performed  by 
John  Rust,  the  blacksmith.  The  baker,  Jake  Wilkes, 
shod  the  human  foot  whenever  he  was  tired  of  punching 
his  dough.  The  Methodist  lay-preacher,  Abe  C.  Horsley, 
sold  everything  to  cover  up  the  body,  whenever  he 
wasn't  concerned  with  the  soul.  Then  there  was  Angel 
Gay,  an  estimable  butcher  and  a  good  enough  fellow;  but  it 
hardly  seemed  right  that  he  should  be  in  combination  with 
Zac  Restless,  the  carpenter,  for  the  disposal  of  Barnriff's 
corpses.  However,  these  things  were,  and  had  been  ac- 
cepted by  the  village  folk  for  so  long  that  it  seemed  al- 
most a  pity  to  disturb  them. 

Barnriff,  viewed  from  a  distance,  was  not  without  a 
certain  picturesqueness  ;  but  the  distance  had  to  be  great 
enough  to  lose  sight  of  the  uncouthness  which  a  close 
inspection  revealed.  Besides,  its  squalor  did  not  much 
matter.  It  did  notaffect  the  temper  of  the  folk  living  within 
its  boundaries.  To  them  the  place  was  a  little  temporary 
"  homelet,"  to  coin  a  word.  For  frontier  people  are,  for 
the  most  part,  transient.  They  only  pause  at  such  place 
on  their  righting  journey  through  the  wilder  life.  They 
pass  on  in  time  to  other  spheres,  some  on  an  upward 
grade,  others  down  the  long  decline,  which  is  the  road 
of  the  ne'er-do-well.  And  with  each  inhabitant  that 
comes  and  goes,  some  detail  of  evolution  is  achieved  by 
the  little  hamlet  through  which  they  pass,  until,  in  the 
course  of  long  years,  it,  too,  has  fought  its  way  upward 
to  the  mathematical  precision  and  bold  glory  of  a  modern 


32  The  One-Way  Trail 

commercial  city,  or  has  joined  in  the  downward  march 
of  the  ne'er-do-well. 

The  blazing  summer  sun  burned  down  upon  the  un- 
sheltered village.  There  was  no  shade  anywhere — that 
is,  outside  the  houses.  For  the  place  had  grown  up  on 
the  crests  of  the  bald,  green  rollers  of  the  Western  plains 
as  though  its  original  seedling  had  been  tossed  there  by 
the  wanton  summer  breezes,  and  for  no  better  reason. 

Anthony  Smallbones,  familiarly  known  to  his  intimates 
as  "  fussy-breeches,"  because  he  lived  in  a  dream-fever 
of  commercial  enterprise,  and  believed  himself  to  be  a 
Napoleon  of  finance — he  ran  a  store,  at  which  he  sold  a 
collection  of  hardware,  books,  candy,  stationery,  notions 
and  "  delicatessen  " — was  on  his  way  to  the  boarding- 
house  for  breakfast — there  was  only  one  boarding-house 
in  Barnriff,  and  all  the  bachelors  had  their  meals  there. 

He  was  never  leisurely.  He  believed  himself  to  be 
too  busy  for  leisure.  Just  now  he  was  concentrated  upon 
the  side  issues  of  a  great  irrigation  scheme  that  had  oc- 
cupied his  small  head  for  at  least  twenty-four  hours,  and 
thus  it  happened  that  he  ran  full  tilt  into  Peter  Blunt  be- 
fore he  was  aware  of  the  giant's  presence.  He  rebounded 
and  came  to,  and  hurled  a  savage  greeting  at  him. 

"  VVher'  you  goin'?"  he  demanded. 

"  Don't  seem  to  be  your  way,"  the  large  man  vouch- 
safed, with  quiet  good-nature. 

"  No,"  was  the  surly  response. 

"  Kind  of  slack,  aren't  you  ?  "  inquired  Peter,  his  deep- 
set  blue  eyes  twinkling  with  humor.  "  I've  eaten  two 
hours  back.  This  lying  a-bed  is  mighty  bad  for  your 
business  schemes." 

"Schemes?     Gee!     I  was  around  at  half  after  five. 


In  Barnriff  33 

man !  Lying  a-bed  ?  Say,  you  don't  know  what  busi- 
ness means."  The  little  man  sniffed  scornfully. 

4i  Maybe  you're  right,"  Peter  responded.  He  hunched 
his  great  loose  shoulders  to  shift  the  position  of  a  small 
sack  of  stuff  he  was  carrying. 

He  was  a  man  of  very  large  physique  and  uncertain  age. 
He  possessed  a  burned  up  face  of  great  strength,  and 
good-nature,  but  it  was  so  weather-stained,  so  grizzled, 
that  at  first  sight  it  appeared  almost  harsh.  He  was  an 
Englishman  who  had  spent  years  and  years  of  hardy  life 
wandering  over  the  remotenesses  of  the  Western  plains  of 
America.  Little  was  known  of  him,  that  is  to  say,  little 
of  that  life  that  must  once  have  been  his.  He  was  well 
educated,  traveled,  and  possessed  an  inexhaustible  fund 
of  information  on  any  subject.  But  beyond  the  fact  that 
he  had  once  been  a  soldier,  and  that  a  large  slice  of  his 
life  had  been  lived  in  such  places  as  Barnriff,  no  one 
knew  aught  of  him.  And  yet  it  was  probable  that  no- 
body on  the  Western  prairies  was  better  known  than 
Peter  Blunt.  East  and  west,  north  and  south,  he  was 
known  for  a  kindly  nature,  and  kindly  actions.  These 
things,  and  for  a  devotion  to  prospecting  for  gold  in 
what  were  generally  considered  to  be  the  most  unlikely 
places. 

"  Right?  Why  o'  course  I'm  right.  Ef  you'se  folk 
jest  got  busy  around  here,  we'd  make  Barnriff  hum  an 
elegant  toon.  Say,  now  I  got  a  dandy  scheme  fer 
irrigatin'  that  land  back  there " 

'•  Yep.  You  gave  me  that  yesterday.  It's  a  good 
scheme."  The  giant's  eyes  twinkled.  "  A  great  scheme. 
You're  a  wonder.  But  say,  all  you  told  me  that  day 
has  set  my  slow  head  busy.  I've  been  thinking  a  heaj* 


34  The  One- Way  Trail 

since  on  what  you  said  about '  trusts.'  That's  it, '  trusts,' 
•  trusts '  and  '  combines.'  That's  the  way  to  get  on  to 
millions  of  dollars.  Better  than  scratching  around,  eh  ? 
Now  here's  an  idea.  I  thought  I'd  like  to  put  it  to  you, 
finance  and  such  things  being  your  specialty.  There's 
Angel  Gay.  Now  he's  running  a  fine  partnership  with 
Restless.  Now  you  take  those  two  as  a  nucleus.  You 
yourself  open  a  side-line  in  drugs,  and  work  in  with  Doc 
Crombie,  and  pool  the  result  of  the  four.  The  Doc 
would  draw  his  fees  for  making  folks  sick,  you'd  clear  a 
handsome  profit  for  poisoning  them,  Gay  'ud  rake  in  his 
dollars  for  burying  'em,  and  Restless  ? — why  Restless  'ud 
put  in  white  pine  for  oak,  and  retire  on  the  profits  in 
five  years.  Say " 

"  What  you  got  in  that  sack  ? "  inquired  Smallbones, 
blandly  ignoring  the  other's  jest  at  his  expense. 

"  Well,  nothing  that's  a  heap  of  interest.  I've  been 
scratching  around  at  the  head  waters  of  the  river,  back 
there  in  the  foot-hills." 

"  Ah,1  prospects/  "  observed  the  other,  with  a  malicious 
shake  of  the  head.  "  Guess  you're  allus  prospectin* 
around.  I  see  you  diggin'  Eve  Marsham's  tater  patch 
yesterday.  Don't  guess  you  made  much  of  a  '  strike  '  in 
that  layout  ?  " 

41  No."  Peter  shook  his  head  genially.  The  little 
man's  drift  was  obvious.  He  turned  toward  the  one 
attractive  cottage  in  the  settlement,  and  saw  a  woman's 
figure  standing  at  the  doorway  talking  to  a  diminutive  boy. 

"  Guess  though  you'll  likely  strike  more  profit  diggin1 
spuds  fer  folk  than  you  do  scratching  up  loam  and  loose 
rocks  the  way  you  do,"  Smallbones  went  on  sourly. 

Peter  nodded. 


In  Barnriff  35 

"  Sure.  You're  a  far-seeing  little  man.  There's  a  heap 
of  gold  about  Eve's  home.  A  big  heap ;  and  I  tell  you, 
if  that  was  my  place,  I'd  never  need  to  get  outside  her 
fences  to  find  all  I  needed.  I'd  be  a  millionaire." 

Smallbones  looked  up  into  his  face  curiously.  He 
was  thinking  hard.  But  his  imagination  was  limited. 
Finally  he  decided  that  Peter  was  laughing  at  him. 

"Guess  your  humor's  'bout  as  elegant  as  a  fun'ral. 
An'  it  ain't  good  on  an  empty  stummick.  I  pass." 

"  So  long,"  cried  the  giant  amiably.  "  I'll  turn  that 
'  trust '  racket  over  in  my  mind.  So  long." 

He  strode  away  with  great  lumbering  strides  heading 
straight  for  his  humble,  two-roomed  shack.  Smallbones, 
as  he  went  on  to  the  boarding-house,  was  full  of  angry 
contempt  for  the  prospector.  He  was  a  mean  man,  and 
like  most  mean  men  he  hated  to  be  laughed  at.  But 
when  his  anger  smoothed  down  he  found  himself  pitying 
any  one  who  spent  his  life  looking  for  profit,  by  wast- 
in-g  a  glorious  energy,  delving  for  gold  in  places  where 
gold  was  known  to  be  non-existent. 

He  ruminated  on  the  matter  as  he  went.  And  won- 
dered. Then  there  came  to  him  the  memory  of  vague 
stories  of  gold  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Barnriff.  Indian 
stones  it  is  true.  But  then  Indian  stories  often  had  a 
knack  of  having  remarkably  truthful  foundations.  Im- 
mediately his  busy  brain  began  to  construct  a  syndicate 
of  townspeople  to  hunt  up  the  legends,  with  a  small 
capital  to  carry  on  operations.  He  would  have  the  lion's 
share  in  the  concern,  of  course,  and — yes — they  might 
make  Peter  Blunt  chief  operator.  And  by  the  time  he 
reached  the  boarding-house  all  his  irrigation  scheme  was 
forgotten  in  this  new  toy. 


CHAPTER  IV 

JIM    PROPOSES 

EVE  MARSHAM  was  in  two  minds  of  hailing  Peter  Blunt 
as  she  saw  him  pass  on  his  way  to  his  hut.  She  wanted 
him.  She  wanted  to  ask  his  advice  about  something. 
Like  many  others  who  needed  a  sympathetic  adviser  she 
preferred  to  appeal  to  Peter  Blunt  rather  than  to  any  of 
her  sex  in  Barnriff.  However,  she  allowed  the  oppor- 
tunity to  slip  by,  and  saw  him  disappear  within  his  door- 
way. Then  she  turned  again  to  the  boy  sitting  on  the 
rough  bench  beside  her,  and  a  look  of  alarm  leaped  to 
her  soft  brown  eyes.  He  was  holding  out  a  tiny  pup  at 
arm's  length,  grasping  it  by  or;e  of  its  little  fore  paws. 

"  Elia,  how  can  you  ? "  she  cried.  "  Put  him  down, 
instantly." 

The  boy  turned  a  bland,  beautiful  face  to  her.  There 
was  seemingly  no  expression  beyond  surprise  in  his  pale 
blue  eyes. 

"  He  likes  it,"  he  said,  while  the  whimpering  pup  still 
wriggled  in  his  grasp. 

Eve  made  a  move  to  take  the  wretched  animal  away, 
but  the  boy  promptly  hugged  it  to  his  misshapen  breast. 

"  He's  mine,"  he  cried.  "  I  can  do  what  I  like  with 
him." 

There  was  no  anger  in  his  voice,  not  even  protest.  It 
was  a  simple  statement  of  denial  that  at  the  same  time 
had  no  resistance  in  it. 


Jim  Proposes  37 

"  Well,  don't  you  be  cruel,"  Eve  exclaimed  shortly, 
and  her  eyes  turned  once  more  m  the  direction  of  Peter 
Blunt's  hut. 

Her  pretty  face  was  very  thoughtful.  Her  sun-tanned 
cheeks,  her  tall,  rounded  body  were  the  picture  of  health. 
She  looked  as  fresh  and  wholesome  as  any  wild  prairie 
flower  with  her  rich  coloring  of  almost  tropical  splendor. 
She  was  neatly  dressed,  more  after  town  fashion  than  in 
the  method  of  such  places  as  Barnriff,  and  her  expressed 
reason  for  thus  differentiating  from  her  fellow  villagers 
was  a  matter  of  mild  advertisement.  She  made  her  liv- 
ing as  a  dressmaker.  She  was  Barnriff's  leading  and 
only  modiste. 

The  boy  at  her  side  continued  his  amusement  at  the 
puppy's  expense.  He  held  it  in  his  two  hands  and 
squeezed  its  little  body  until  the  poor  creature  gasped 
and  retched.  Then  he  swung  it  to  and  fro  by  its  diminu- 
tive tail.  Then  he  threw  it  up  in  the  air,  making  it  turn 
a  somersault,  and  catching  it  again  clumsily. 

All  this  he  did  in  a  mild,  emotionless  manner.  There 
was  no  boyish  interest  or  amusement  in  it.  Just  a  calm, 
serious  immobility  that  gave  one  the  impression  of  a 
painting  by  one  of  the  old  European  masters. 

Elia  was  Eve  Marsham's  crippled  brother.  He  was 
seven  years  younger  than  she,  and  was  just  about  to  turn 
sixteen.  In  reality  he  was  more  than  a  cripple.  He  was 
a  general  deformity,  a  deformity  that  somehow  even 
reached  his  brain.  By  this  it  must  not  be  imagined  that 
he  was  an  idiot,  or  lacking  in  intelligence  in  any  way, 
but  he  had  some  curious  mental  twists  that  marked  him 
as  something  out  of  the  normal.  His  chief  peculiarity 
lay  in  his  dread  of  pain  to  himself.  An  ache,  a  trifling 


38  The  One-Way  Trail 

bruise,  a  mere  scratch  upon  himself,  would  hurl  him  into 
a  paroxysm  of  terror  which  frequently  terminated  in  a 
fit,  or,  at  least,  convulsions  of  a  serious  nature.  This 
drove  the  girl,  who  was  his  only  living  relative,  to  great 
pains  in  her  care  of  him,  which,  combined  with  an  almost 
maternal  love  for  him,  kept  her  on  a  rack  of  apprehen- 
sion for  his  well-being. 

He  had  another  strange  side  to  his  character,  and  one 
of  which  everybody  but  Eve  was  aware.  He  possessed  a 
morbid  love  for  horror,  for  the  sufferings  of  others.  He 
had  been  known  to  sit  for  hours  with  a  sick  man  in  the 
village  who  was  suffering  agonies  of  rheumatism,  for  the 
mere  delight  of  drawing  from  him  details  of  the  pains  he 
was  enduring,  and  reveling  in  the  horror  of  the  descrip- 
tion with  ghoulish  delight. 

When  Restless,  the  carpenter,  broke  his  leg  the  boy 
was  always  around.  And  when  the  wretched  man 
groaned  while  they  set  it,  his  face  was  a  picture  of  rapt 
fascination.  To  Eve  his  visits  on  such  occasions  were  a 
sign  of  his  sympathetic  nature,  and  she  encouraged  him 
because  she  did  not  know  the  real  meaning  of  them. 
But  there  were  other  things  she  did  not  know.  He  used 
to  pay  weekly  visits  to  Gay's  slaughter  yard  on  killing 
day,  and  reveled  in  the  cruel  task  of  skinning  and  cutting 
up  the  carcase  of  the  slaughtered  beast.  If  a  fight  be- 
tween two  men  occurred  in  the  village  Elia's  instinct  led 
him  unerringly  to  it.  It  was  a  curious  psychological 
fact  that  the  pains  and  sufferings  which,  for  himself,  he 
dreaded  with  an  almost  insane  abhorrence,  he  loved  and 
desired  in  others. 

He  was  a  quaint  figure,  a  figure  to  draw  sympathy  and 
pity  from  the  hardiest.  He  was  precisely  four  feet 


Jim  Proposes  39 

One  leg  was  shorter  than  the  other,  and  the  hip  was 
drawn  up  in  a  corresponding  manner.  His  chest  was 
sunken,  and  his  back  was  hunched,  and  he  carried  .his 
head  bent  sideways  on  his  shoulders,  in  the  inquiring 
attitude  one  associates  with  a  bird. 

He  was  his  sister's  sole  charge,  left  to  her,  when  much 
younger,  by  their  dying  mother.  And  the  girl  lavished 
on  him  all  the  wealth  of  a  good  woman's  sympathy  and 
love.  She  saw  nothing  of  his  faults.  She  saw  only  his 
deplorable  physical  condition,  and  his  perfect  angel-face. 
His  skin  and  complexion  were  so  transparent  that  one 
could  almost  have  counted  the  veins  beneath  the  surface ; 
the  sun  had  no  power  to  burn  that  face  to  the  russet 
which  was  the  general  complexion  among  prairie  folk. 
His  mouth  had  the  innocence  of  a  babe's,  and  formed  a 
perfect  Cupid's  bow,  such  as  a  girl  might  well  be  proud  of. 
His  eyes  were  large,  inquiring  and  full  of  intelligence. 
His  nose  might  have  been  chiseled  by  an  old  Greek 
sculptor,  while  his  hair,  long  and  wavy,  was  of  the  texture 
and  color  of  raw  silk. 

He  was  certainly  the  idol  of  Eve's  heart.  In  him  she 
could  see  no  wrong,  no  vice.  She  cherished  him,  and 
served  him,  and  worked  for  him.  He  was  her  life.  And, 
as  is  only  natural,  he  had  learned  to  claim  as  his  right  all 
that  which  out  of  her  boundless  affection  it  was  her  joy 
to  bestow. 

Suddenly  the  yelping  of  the  pup  brought  Eve  round 
on  him  again.  He  was  once  more  holding  it  aloft  by  its 
tail.  The  girl  darted  to  its  rescue,  and,  instantly,  Elia 
released  his  hold,  and  the  poor  creature  fell  with  a  squelch- 
ing sound  upon  the  ground.  She  gave  a  little  scream, 
but  the  boy  only  looked  on  in  silent  fascination.  Fortu- 


40  The  One-Way  Trail 

nately  the  poor  pup  was  only  badly  shaken  and  hastily 
crawled  away  to  safety.  Elia  was  for  recovering  it,  but 
Eve  promptly  vetoed  his  design. 

"  Certainly  not,  you  cruel  boy,"  she  said  sharply. 
"  You  remain  where  you  are.  You  can  tell  me  about  the 
chicken  killing  down  at  Restless 's." 

In  the  interest  of  the  subject  on  which  Eve  desired 
information  Elia  forgot  all  about  the  pup.  He  offered  no 
protest  nor  made  the  least  demur,  but  forthwith  began  his 
story. 

"  Sure  I  will,"  he  said,  with  a  curious,  uncanny  laugh. 
"  Old  Ma  Restless  is  just  raving  her  fat  head  off.  I  was 
around  this  morning  and  heard  her.  Gee !  She  was 
sayin'  things.  She  was  cussin'  and  cussin'  like  mad.  So 
I  jest  turned  in  the  yard  to  see.  It  was  just  as  funny  as 
a  circus.  She  stood  there,  her  fat  sides  all  of  a  wabble, 
an'  a  reg'lar  waterfall  pourin'  out  of  her  eyes.  He !  He ! 
But  what  made  me  laff  most  was  to  see  those  checkens 
around  her  on  the  ground.  There  was  ten  of  'em  lying 
around,  and  somebody  had  choppened  off  all  their  heads. 
Say,  the  blood  was  tricklin',  an' — well,  there,  you  never 
did  see  such  a  mess.  It  was  real  comic,  an'  I — well,  to 
see  her  wringin'  her  fat  hands,  and  cussin'.  Gee!  I 
wonder  she  wasn't  struck  for  it,  an'  her  a  woman  an'  all." 

He  laughed  silently,  while  his  sister  stared  at  him  in 
amazement. 

Finally  she  checked  his  amusement  sharply. 

'•  Yes  ?     Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  then  she  see  me,  an'  she  turned  on  me  like  a 
wildcat,  an*  I  was  'most  scairt  to  death.  She  said, '  What 
you  doin' here,  you  imp  o' Satan?  Who's  done  this  ?  Tell 
me !  Tell  me  an'  I'll  lay  for  'em !  I'll  shoot  'em  down 


Jim  Proposes  41 

like  vermin.'  I  knew  she  wasn't  really  talkin*  to  me,  so 
then  I  wasn't  scairt.  She  was  jest  blowin'  off  steam. 
Then  I  got  around  an'  looked  close  at  'em — the  checkens, 
I  mean — and  I  see  just  where  the  knife  had  cut  their 
necks  off.  It  was  an  elegant  way  of  killing  'em,  and  say, 
how  they  must  have  flapped  around  after  they'd  got  clear 
of  their  silly  heads."  He  laughed  gleefully  again.  "  I 
looked  up  after  that  and  see  her  watchin'  me.  Guess  her 
eyes  was  kind  of  funny  lookin',  so  I  said,  «  You  don't 
need  to  take  on,  mam,'  I  said.  •  They'll  make  elegant 
roasts,  an'  you  can  get  busy  and  hatch  out  some  more.' 
And  somehow  she  got  quiet  then,  and  I  watched  her 
gather  them  checkens  up,  an'  take  'em  into  the  house. 
Then  when  she  came  out  an'  see  me  again,  she  says, 
Light  you  right  out  o'  here,  you  imp  o'  Satan !  I  fair 
hates  the  sight  o'  you/  So  I  lit  out.  Say,  Eve,"  he 
added,  after  a  reflective  pause,  "  why  does  folks  all  hate 
me  so  much  ?  " 

The  girl  sighed  and  shook  her  head.  Then  she  came 
over  to  him,  and,  bending  down,  kissed  his  fair  waving 
hair. 

"  Never  mind,  dear.  I  don't  hate  you,"  she  said. 
"  Perhaps  it  is  you  offend  folks  somehow.  You  know 
you  do  manage  to  upset  folks  at  times.  You  seem  to 
say — say  queer  things  to  them,  and  get  them  mad."  She 
smiled  down  upon  the  boy  a  little  wistfully.  She  knew 
her  brother  was  disliked  by  most  in  the  village,  and  it 
pained  her  terribly  that  it  should  be  so.  They  tried  to 
be  outwardly  kind  to  him,  but  she  always  felt  that  it  was 
solely  for  her  sake  and  never  for  his.  As  Elia  had  never 
spoken  of  it  before,  she  had  lived  in  the  hope  that  lie  did 
not  understand  their  dislike.  However,  it  was  as  well 


4.2  The  One- Way  Trail 

that  he  should  know.  If  he  realized  it  now,  as  he  grew 
older  he  might  endeavor  to  earn  their  good-will  in  spite 
of  present  prejudice. 

11  Guess  it  must  be,  sis.  You  see  I  don't  kind  of  mean 
to  say  things,"  he  said  almost  regretfully.  "  Only  when 
they're  in  my  head  they  must  come  out,  or — or  I  think 
my  head  would  jest  bust,"  he  finished  up  naively. 

The  girl  was  still  smiling,  and  one  arm  stole  round  the 
boy's  hunched  shoulders. 

"  Of  course  you  can't  help  saying  those  things  you 
know  to  be  true " 

11  But  they  most  generally  ain't  true." 

The  innocent,  inquiring  eyes  looked  straight  up  into 
hers. 

"  No,"  he  went  on  positively, "  they  generally  ain't.  I 
don't  think  my  head  would  bust  keepin'  in  the  truth. 
Now,  yesterday,  Will  Henderson  was  down  at  the  saloon 
before  he  came  up  to  see  you.  He  came  and  sort  of 
spoke  nice  to  me.  I  know  he  hates  me,  and— and  I  hate 
him  worse'n  poison.  Well,  he  spoke  nice  to  me,  as  I 
said,  an'  I  wanted  to  spit  at  him  for  it.  And  I  jest  set 
to  and  tho't  and  tho't  how  I  could  hurt  him.  And  so  I 
said,  right  out  before  all  the  boys, '  Wot  for  do  you  allus 
come  hangin'  around  our  shack  ?  Eve's  most  sick  to 
death  with  you,'  I  said  ;  « it  isn't  as  if  she  ast  you  to  get 
around,  it's  just  you  buttin'  in.  If  you  was  Jim  Thorpe 
now '  " 

"  You  never  said  all  that,  Elia,"  cried  Eve,  sternly.  All 
her  woman's  pride  was  outraged,  and  she  felt  her  fingers 
itching  to  box  the  boy's  ears. 

"  I  did  sure,"  Elia  went  on,  in  that  sober  tone  of  de- 
cided self-satisfaction.  "  And  I  said  a  heap  more.  And 


Jim  Proposes  43 

didn't  the  boys  jest  laff.  Will  went  red  as  a  beet,  and 
the  boys  laffed  more.  And  I  was  real  glad.  I  hate 
Will !  Say,  he  was  up  here  last  night.  Wot  for  ?  He 
was  up  here  from  six  to  nigh  nine.  Say,  sis,  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  have  him  around." 

Eve  did  not  respond.  She  was  staring  out  at  the 
rampart  of  hills  beyond,  where  Will  worked.  She  was 
thinking  of  Will,  thinking  of — but  the  boy  was  in- 
sistent. 

"  Say,  I'd  have  been  real  glad  if  it  had  been  Jim 
Thorpe.  Only  he  don't  come  so  often,  does  he  ?  I  like 
him.  Say,  Jim's  allus  good  to  me.  I  don't  never  seem 
to  want  to  hurt  him.  No,  sure.  Jim's  good.  But 

Will Say,  sis,  Will's  a  bad  lot ;  he  is  certain.  I 

know.  He's  never  done  nuthing  bad,  I  know,  but  I  can 
see  it  in  his  face,  his  eyes.  It's  in  his  head,  too.  Do 
you  know  I  can  allus  tell  when  bad's  in  folks'  heads. 
Now,  there's  Smallbones.  He's  a  devil.  You'll  see  it, 
too,  some  day.  Then  there's  Peter  Blunt.  Now  Peter's 
that  good  he'd  break  his  neck  if  he  thought  it  'ud  help 
folks.  But  Will " 

"  Elia,"  Eve  was  bending  over  the  boy's  crooked  form. 
Her  cheek  was  resting  on  his  silky  hair.  She  could  not 
face  those  bland  inquiring  eyes.  "  You  mustn't  say  any- 
thing against  Will.  I  like  him.  He's  not  a  bad  man — 
really  he  isn't,  and  you  mustn't  say  he  is.  Will  is  just  a 
dear,  foolish  Irish  boy,  and  when  once  he  has  settled 
down  will  be — you  wait " 

The  boy  abruptly  wriggled  out  of  his  sister's  embrace. 
His  eyes  sought  hers  so  that  she  could  no  longer  avoid 
them. 

"  I  won't  wait  for  anything  to  do  with  Will  Henderson 


44  The  One-Way  Trail 

~—  if  that's  what  you  mean.  I  tell  you  he's  no  good.  I 
hate  him  !  I  hate  him  !  And — and  I  hope  some  one'll 
kill  all  the  checkens  he's  left  in  your  care  down  at  that 
old  shack  of  his."  He  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  hobbled 
away,  vanishing  round  the  corner  of  the  house  in  a  fury 
of  fierce  resentment. 

He  had  been  roused  to  one  of  his  dreaded  fits  of  pas- 
sion, and  Eve  was  alarmed.  In  a  fever  of  apprehension 
she  \vas  about  to  follow  him  up  and  soothe  him,  when  she 
saw  a  horseman  galloping  toward  the  house.  The  figure 
was  unmistakable,  besides  she  knew  the  horse's  gait  and 
color.  It  was  Jim  Thorpe,  riding  in  from  the  AZ  ranch. 

In  a  few  moments  he  drew  rein  at  the  gate  of  her 
vegetable  patch.  He  flung  the  reins  over  his  horse's 
head  and  removed  the  bit  from  its  mouth.  Then  he  let 
it  wander  grazing  on  the  tawny  grass  of  the  market- 
place. 

Eve  waited  for  him  to  come  up  the  gard-en  path,  and 
for  the  moment  the  boy  was  forgotten.  She  welcomed 
him  with  the  cordiality  of  old  friendship.  There  was 
genuine  pleasure  in  her  smile,  there  was  hearty  welcome 
in  her  eyes,  and  in  the  soft,  warm  grip  of  her  strong 
young  hand,  but  that  was  all.  There  was  no  shyness,  no 
avoiding  the  honest  devotion  in  his  look.  The  radiant 
hope  shining  in  his  clear,  dark  eyes  was  not  for  her  un- 
derstanding. The  unusual  care  in  his  dress,  the  neatly 
polished  boots  under  his  leather  chaps,  the  creamy  white- 
ness of  his  cotton  shirt,  the  store  creases  of  the  new  silk 
handkerchief  about  his  neck,  none  of  these  things  struck 
her  as  being  anything  out  of  the  ordinary. 

And  he,  blind  soul,  took  courage  from  the  warmth  of 
her  welcome.  His  heart  beat  high  with  a  hope  which  no 


Jim  Proposes  45 

ordinary  mundane  affairs  could  have  inspired.  All  the 
ill-fate  behind  him  was  wiped  off  the  slate.  The  world 
shone  radiant  before  eyes,  which,  at  such  times,  are  mer- 
cifully blinded  to  realities.  An  Almighty  Providence 
sees  that  every  man  shall  live  to  the  full  such  moments 
as  were  his  just  then.  It  is  in  the  great  balance  of 

things.  The  greater  the  joy,  the  harder But  what 

matters  the  other  side  of  the  picture ! 

"  Eve,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  was  hoping  to  find  you — not 
busy.  I've  ridden  right  in  to  yarn  with  you — 'bout 
things.  Say,  maybe  you've  got  five  minutes  ?  " 

"  I've  always  got  five  minutes  for  you,  Jim,"  the  girl 
responded  warmly.  "  Sit  right  down  here  on  this  seat, 
and  get — going.  How's  things  with  the  '  AZ's  '  ?  " 

"  Bully  !  Dan  McLagan's  getting  big  notions  of  doing 
things  ;  he's  heaping  up  the  dollars  in  plenty.  And  I'm 
glad,  because  with  him  doing  well  I'm  doing  well.  I've 
already  got  an  elegant  bunch  of  cows  and  calves  up  in  the 
foot-hills.  You  see  I  make  trade  with  him  for  my  wages. 
I've  done  more.  Yesterday  I  got  him  to  promise  me  a 
lease  of  grazing,  and  a  big  patch  for  a  homestead  way  up 
there  in  the  foot-hills.  In  another  two  years  I  mean  to 
be  ranching  on  my  own,  eh  ?  How's  that  ?  " 

The  girl's  eyes  were  bright  with  responsive  enthusiasm. 
She  was  smiling  with  delight  at  this  dear  friend's  evident 
success. 

"  It's  great,  Jim.  But  how  quiet  you've  been  over  it. 
You  never  even  hinted  before " 

The  man  shook  his  head,  and  for  a  moment  a  shadow 
of  regret  passed  across  his  handsome  face. 

"  Well,  you  see  I  waited  until  I  was  sure  of  that  lease. 
I've  come  so  many  falls  I  didn't  guess  I  wanted  to  try 


46  The  One-Way  Trail 

another  by  anticipating  too  much.  So  I  just  waited, 
It's  straight  going  now,"  he  went  on,  with  a  return  to  his 
enthusiasm,  "  and  I'm  going  to  start  building." 

"  Yes,  yes.  You'll  get  everything  ready  for  leaving 
the'AZVin- 

"  Two  years,  yes.  I'll  put  up  a  three-roomed  shack  of 
split  logs,  a  small  barn,  and  branding  corrals.  That'll  be 
the  first  start.  You  see  " — he  paused — "  I'd  like  to  know 
about  that  shack.  Now  what  about  the  size  of  the  rooms 
and  things  ?  I — I  thought  I'd  ask  you " 

"Me?" 

The  girl  turned  inquiring  eyes  upon  him.  She  was 
searching  his  face  for  something,  and  that  something 
came  to  her  as  an  unwelcome  discovery,  for  she  abruptly 
turned  away  again,  and  her  attention  was  held  by  those 
distant  hills,  where  Will  Henderson  worked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  seriously.  The  light  of  en- 
thusiasm had  died  out  of  her  eyes,  leaving  them  somehow 
sad  and  regretful.  "  You  see,  I  don't  know  a  man's  re- 
quirements in  such  things.  A  woman  has  ideas,  but 
that  is  chiefly  for  herself.  You  see,  she  has  the  care  of 
the  house  generally." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  that's  it,"  Jim  broke  in  eagerly.  Then  he 
checked  himself.  Something  in  Eve's  manner  gave  him 
pause.  "  You  see  I — I  wanted  a  woman's  ideas.  I  don't 
want  the  house  for  a  man.  I " 

He  did  not  finish  what  he  had  to  say.  Somehow 
words  failed  him.  It  was  not  that  he  found  it  difficult  to 
put  what  he  wanted  to  say  into  words.  Something  in 
the  girl's  manner  checked  his  eagerness  and  drove  him  to 
silence.  He,  too,  suddenly  found  himself  staring  out  at 
the  hills,  where — Will  worked. 


Jim  Proposes  47 

For  one  fleeting  instant  Eve  turned  her  gentle  eyes 
upon  the  face  beside  her.  She  saw  the  strong  features, 
the  steady  look  of  the  dark  eyes,  the  clean-cut  profile 
and  determined  jaw.  She  saw,  too,  that  he  was  thinking 
hard,  and  her  woman's  instinct  came  to  her  aid.  She  felt 
that  she  must  be  the  first  to  speak.  And  on  what  she 
said  depended — what  would  follow. 

"  Why  not  leave  the  house  until  toward  the  end  of  the 
two  years  ?  By  that  time  you  will  have  been  able  to  talk 
it  over  with — the  right  person." 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  do  now." 

Jim's  eagerness  leaped  again.  He  thought  he  saw  an 
opening.  His  eyes  had  in  them  the  question  he  wanted 
to  ask.  All  his  soul  was  behind  his  words,  all  his  great 
depth  of  feeling  and  love  looked  out  at  the  rounded  oval 
of  her  sweet  face.  He  hungrily  took  in  the  beauty  of  her 
hair,  her  eyes,  her  cheeks  ;  the  sweet  richness  of  her  ripe 
lips,  the  chiseled  roundness  of  her  beautiful  neck.  He 
longed  to  crush  her  to  his  heart  where  they  sat.  He 
longed  to  tell  her  that  she  and  she  only  of  all  women 
could  ever  occupy  the  hut  he  intended  to  build ;  he 
longed  to  pour  into  her  ears  his  version  of  the  old,  old 
story,  and  so  full  was  his  great,  strong  heart,  so  over- 
whelming was  his  lover's  madness,  that  he  believed  he 
could  tell  that  story  as  it  had  never  been  told  before. 
But  the  question  never  reached  his  lips.  The  old  story 
was  not  for  his  telling.  Nor  did  he  ask  himself  why.  It 
was  as  though  a  power  which  was  all-mastering  forbade 
him  to  speak  further. 

"  Have  you  seen  Will  to-day  ? "  Eve  suddenly  in- 
quired, with  apparent  irrelevance.  "  I  half  expected 
to "  And  she  broke  off  purposely. 


48  The  One-Way  Trail 

The  look  in  Jim's  eyes  hardened  to  one  of  acute  ap- 
prehension. 

44  You  were — expecting  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  exactly,  Jim."  She  withdrew  her  gaze 
from  the  distant  hills,  and,  gently  smiling,  turned  her 
eyes  upon  him.  They  were  full  of  sympathy  and  pro- 
found kindness.  "  You  see,  he  came  here  last  night. 
And,  well,  I  thought  he  said  something  about " 

Jim  started.  A  shiver  passed  through  his  body.  He 
suddenly  felt  cold  in  that  blazing  sun.  His  eyes  pain- 
fully sought  the  girl's  face.  His  look  was  an  appeal,  an 
appeal  for  a  denial  of  what  in  his  heart  he  feared.  For 
some  seconds  he  did  not  speak.  There  was  no  sound  be- 
tween them,  but  of  his  breathing,  which  had  become  sud- 
denly heavy. 

"  Will— Will  was  here  last  night? "  he  said  at  last. 

His  voice  was  husky  and  unusual.  But  he  dropped 
his  eyes  before  the  innocent  look  of  inquiry  in  the 
girl's. 

"  Why,  yes  ;  he  spent  the  evening  with  me." 

In  lowering  his  eyes  Jim  found  them  staring  at  the 
girl's  hands,  resting  in  her  lap.  On  one  of  them  he 
noticed,  for  the  first  time,  a  gold  band.  It  was  the  inside 
of  a  ring.  It  was  on  the  third  finger  of  the  left  hand. 
He  had  never  seen  Eve  wearing  rings  before.  Suddenly 
he  reached  out  and  caught  her  hands  in  his.  He  turned 
them  over  with  almost  brutal  roughness.  Eve  tried  to 
withdraw  them,  but  he  held  them  fast. 

"  That  ring  !  "  he  exclaimed,  hoarsely.  It  was  in  full 
view  now.  "  It  is  Will's.  It  was  my  father's  signet  ring. 

I  gave  it  to  him.  Where? — How ?  But  no,  you 

needn't  tell  me,  I  guess."  He  almost  flung  her  hands 


Jim  Proposes  49 

from  him.     And  a  wave  of  sickness  swept  over  him  as 
he  thought. 

Then  in  a  moment  all  the  passion  of  his  heart  rose 
uppermost  in  him,  and  its  scorching  tide  swept  through 
his  body,  maddening  him,  driving  him.  A  torrent  of 
words  surged  to  his  lips,  words  of  bitterness,  cruel  words 
that  would  hurt  the  girl,  hurt  himself,  words  of  hateful 
intensity,  words  that  might  ease  his  tortured  soul  at  the 
expense  of  those  who  had  always  occupied  foremost  place 
in  his  heart 

But  they  were  not  uttered.  He  choked  them  back  with 
a  gasp,  and  seized  himself  in  an  iron  grip  of  will.  And, 
for  some  moments,  he  held  on  as  a  drowning  man  may 
cling  to  the  saving  hand.  He  must  not  hurt  the  girl,  he 
must  not  wound  her  love  by  betraying  his  cousin.  If 
Will  had  not  played  the  game,  at  any  rate  he  would. 
Suddenly,  he  spoke  again,  and  no  one  would  have 
suspected  the  storm  raging  under  his  calm  exterior. 
Only  his  voice  was  hoarse,  and  his  lips  were  dry,  and  the 
usually  clear  whites  of  his  eyes  were  bloodshot. 

"  The  boy  has  asked  you,  then  ? "  he  said  slowly. 
And  he  waited  for  the  death-knell  of  all  his  hopes,  his 
iove. 

41  Yes."  Eve's  voice  was  very  low.  Her  gentle  woman's 
heart  ached,  for  her  instinct  told  her  of  the  pain  she  was 
causing.  "  Last  night  he  asked  me  to  be  his  wife,  and  J 
—I  love  him,  Jim,  and  so  I  consented." 

"  Yes,  yes."  There  was  weariness  in  the  man's  voice, 
now.  It  sounded  almost  as  though  he  were  physicall> 
weary.  "  I  hope  you  will  be  happy,  dear.  Will's — a 
good  boy " 

"  Yes,  and  I  asked  him  if  you  knew  anything  about  it. 


50  The  One- Way  Trail 

And  he  said, '  No.'  He  said  it  would  be  a  little  surprise  for 

you You  are  not  going  ?  "  Jim  had  suddenly 

started  to  his  feet.  "  Won't  you  wait  for  Will  ?  He's 
staying  in  the  village.  He  said  he'd  be  up  to  see  me  this 
morning — before  he  went  out  to  the  hills." 

Jim  could  stand  no  more. 

"  I'm  glad  you  told  me,  Eve,"  he  said,  almost  harshly. 
"  Will's  not  good  at  surprises.  No,  I  won't  stay.  I'll  get 
right  back,  after  I've  done  some  business  in  the  village." 
He  stood,  glancing  thoughtfully  down  at  the  village  for 
some  moments.  Then  he  turned  again,  and  a  shadowy 
smile  lit  his  sombre  eyes. 

"  I've  given  out  a  contract  for  that  homestead,"  he 
went  on.  "  Well,  I'm  going  to  cancel  it.  Good-bye,  lit- 
tle girl." 

"Oh,  Jim,  I " 

But  the  man  shook  his  head. 

"  Don't  you  be  sorry.  Get  all  the  happiness  you  can. 
Maybe  Will  will  be  a  real  good  husband  to  you." 

He  moved  away  and  strode  after  his  horse.  The  beast 
was  well  out  on  the  market-place,  and  Eve  watched  him 
catch  it  and  clamber  into  the  saddle.  Then  she  turned 
away  with  a  sigh,  and  found  herself  looking  into  the 
beautiful  face  of  her  brother.  He  had  silently  crept  up  to 
her  side. 

"  You've  hurt  him,  sis ;  you've  hurt  him  real  bad.  Did 
you  see?  It  was  all  inside.  Inside  here;"  the  boy 
folded  his  delicate  hands  over  his  hollow  breast.  "  I 
know  it  because  I  feel  it  here,  too.  It's  as  though  you'd 
taken  right  hold  of  a  bunch  of  cords  here,  and  were  pull- 
ing 'em,  tearing  'em,  an'  someway  they're  fixed  right  on 
to  your  heart.  That's  the  way  you've  hurt  him,  an' it 


Jim  Proposes  £1 

hurts  me,  because  I  like  him — he's  good.  You  don't 
know  what  it  feels  when  a  man's  hurt.  I  do.  It's  ele- 
gant pain.  Gee  !  "  His  calm  face  was  quite  unlit  by  the 
emotion  he  described.  "  It  don't  stop  at  your  heart.  It 
gets  right  through  to  your  muscles,  and  they  tingle  and 
itch  to  do  something,  and  they  mostly  want  to  hurt,  same 
as  you've  been  hurt.  Then  it  gets  to  the  head,  through 
the  blood.  That's  it ;  the  blood  gets  hot,  and  it  makes 
the  brain  hot,  an'  when  the  brain's  hot  it  thinks  hot 
thoughts,  an'  they  scorch  an'  make  you  feel  violent. 
You  think  hurt  for  some  one,  see?  It's  all  over  the 
body  alike.  It's  when  men  get  hurt  like  that  that  they 
want  to  kill.  Gee  !  You've  hurt  him." 

The  boy  paused  a  little  breathlessly.  His  tense  nerves 
were  quivering  with  some  sort  of  mental  strain.  It  was 
as  though  he  were  watching  something  that  was  going 
on  inside  himself,  and  the  effort  was  tremendous,  physic- 
ally and  mentally.  But,  used  as  Eve  was  to  his  vagaries, 
she  saw  none  of  this.  She  was  thinking  only  of  Jim. 
Thinking  of  the  suffering  which  her  brother  had  said  she 
had  caused  him.  Woman-like,  she  felt  she  must  excuse 
herself.  Yet  she  knew  she  had  nothing  to  blame  herself 
with. 

"  I  only  told  him  I  had  promised  to  marry  Will." 

The  boy  uttered  a  little  cry.  It  was  a  strange  sound, 
unlike  anything  human.  He  rushed  at  her,  and  his  thin 
hands  seized  upon  her  wrists,  and  clutched  them  vio- 
lently. 

"You're  goin'  to  marry  Will?  You!  You!  And 
you've  hurt  him — to  marry  Will?"  Then,  with  the 
force  of  his  clutch  upon  her  wrists,  he  drew  her  down 
toward  him  till  her  face  was  near  to  his,  and  his  placid 


52  The  One- Way  Trail 

eyes  looked  coldly  into  hers.  "You've — hurt — me  — 
too,"  he  hissed  into  her  face,  "  and  I  almost — hate  you. 
No,  it's  not  you — but  I  hate  Will  worse'n  I  ever  hated 
anything  in  my  life, ' 


CHAPTER  V 

TO  THE  RED,  DANCING  DEVIL 

JIM  THORPE  dashed  the  vicious  rowels  of  his  Mexican 
spurs  into  the  flanks  of  his  horse.  Such  unaccustomed 
treatment  sent  the  willing  beast  racing  headlong  across 
the  market-place,  while  the  guiding  hand  mechanically 
directed  toward  the  saloon. 

A  storm  of  bitterness  wrung  the  man's  heart.  A 
murky  pall  of  depression  hung  over  his  brain,  deadening 
his  sense  of  proportion  for  all  those  things  that  matter. 
For  the  time,  at  least,  it  crushed  down  in  his  heart  that 
spirit  of  striving,  which  was  one  of  his  best  character- 
istics, and  utterly  quenched  the  warm  fires  of  his  better 
nature.  All  thought  was  buried  in  a  fog  of  wrath,  which 
left  him  a  prey  to  instincts  utterly  foreign  to  his  normal 
condition.  He  had  left  Eve  Marsham's  presence  in  a 
furious  state  from  which  no  effort  seemed  able  to 
clear  him.  Nothing  gripped  his  understanding — nothing 
save  the  knowledge  of  what  he  had  lost,  and  the  con- 
viction of  the  low-down  trick  that  had  been  played  upon 
him  by  one  whom  he  regarded  as  a  dear,  younger 
brother. 

He  drew  rein  at  the  saloon  and  flung  out  of  the  saddle. 
He  mechanically  hitched  his  horse  to  the  tie-post.  Then, 
with  unconscious  aggressiveness,  he  strode  up  to  the 
building  and  pushed  his  way  through  the  swing  doors. 

The  bar  was  empty,  an  unusual  enough  circumstance 
at  that  time  of  the  day  to  draw  comment  from  any  one 


54  The  One- Way  Trail 

who  knew  the  habits  of  the  men  of  Barnriff ;  but  Thorpe 
did  not  notice  it.  His  eyes  were  on  the  man  behind  the 
counter  standing  ready  to  serve  him.  He  strode  over  to 
him  and  flung  down  a  ten-dollar  bill,  ordering  a  drink  of 
whiskey,  and  a  bottle  of  the  spirit  to  take  away  with 
him.  He  was  promptly  served,  and  Silas  Rocket,  the 
proprietor,  civilly  passed  the  time  of  day.  It  elicited  no 
responsive  greeting,  for  Jim  gulped  down  his  drink,  and 
helped  himself  to  another.  The  second  glass  of  the  fiery 
spirit  he  swallowed  greedily,  while  Rocket  looked  on  in 
amazement.  As  he  proceeded  to  pour  out  another  the 
man's  astonishment  found  vent. 

"  A  third  ?  "  he  said  stupidly. 

Jim  deigned  no  answer,  but  drank  the  liquor  down, 
and  set  the  glass  forcefully  upon  the  counter. 

The  saloon-keeper  quickly  recovered  himself.  Nor  was 
he  slow  to  comment. 

"  Feelin'  mean,  some  ?  "  he  observed,  with  a  sympa- 
thetic wink.  He  cared  little  how  his  visitor  took  his  re- 
mark. He  was  used  to  the  vagaries  of  his  customers, 
and  cared  not  a  snap  of  the  fingers  for  them. 

Jim's  reply  came  swiftly. 

"  Yes,  mean  enough  to  need  your  hogwash,"  he  said 
shortly. 

Silas  Rocket's  eyes  snapped.  He  was  never  a  man  to 
take  things  sitting  down. 

"  Hogwash  it  is  when  a  feller  o'  your  manners  swills 
it.  Mebbe  it'll  clear  some  o'  the  filth  off'n  your  measly 
chest.  Have  one  on  me ;  I'd  be  real  glad  to  help  in  the 
cleanin'  process." 

There  was  a  subtle  threat  underlying  his  last  words. 
But  Jim  cared  nothing  for  what  he  said. 


To  the  Red,  Dancing  Devil  55 

"  I'll  pay  for  all  I  need,"  he  retorted,  turning  from  the 
counter,  and  bearing  his  bottle  away  over  to  the  window. 

Rocket  shrugged  and  turned  to  his  work  of  setting 
some  sort  of  order  among  his  bottles.  But,  as  Jim  stood 
at  the  window  with  his  back  turned,  his  narrow  eyes 
frequently  regarded  him  and  his  busy  brain  speculated  as 
to  his  humor.  The  ranchman  was  well  liked  in  Barnriff, 
but  his  present  attitude  puzzled  the  worthy  host. 

However,  the  object  of  all  this  attention  was  wholly 
unaware  of  it.  Even  if  it  had  been  otherwise,  it  is  doubt- 
ful if  Thorpe  would  have  cared  in  the  least.  He  was  lost 
in  a  rushing  train  of  thought.  His  brain  had  cleared 
under  the  stimulating  potions  of  raw  whiskey,  and,  just 
as  before  his  chaotic  state  had  made  him  unable  to  grasp 
things  fully,  now  it  was  equally  chaotic  in  an  opposite 
direction.  His  brain  was  running  riot  with  a  clearness 
and  rapidity  that  showed  only  too  plainly  the  nervous 
tension  under  which  he  was  laboring.  He  was  piecing 
this  latest  trick  of  fortune  with  the  ill-luck  which  seemed 
to  be  ever  pursuing  him.  Under  the  influence  of  the 
burning  spirit  he  seemed  to  have  lost  the  sting  of  the 
actual  wrong  to  himself,  and  in  its  place  a  morbid  train 
of  thought  had  been  set  working. 

It  was  a  persecution  that  was  steadily  dogging  him. 
When  his  early  misfortunes  had  come  he  had  accepted 
them  stoically,  believing  them  to  be  part  of  the  balance 
of  things,  beginning  on  the  wrong  side,  no  doubt,  but 
which  would  be  leveled  up  later  on.  Time  and  again  he 
had  received  these  buffets,  and  he  had  merely  smiled,  a 
little  grimly  perhaps,  and  started  to  "  buck  the  game  " 
afresh. 

Then,  when  things  eventually  turned  slightly  in  his 


56  The  One- Way  Trail 

favor,  very  slightly,  out  here  on  the  prairie  amongst  the 
derelicts,  the  flotsam  of  the  grassy  ocean,  he  had  found  a 
brief  breathing  space.  He  had  begun  to  think  the  balance 
had  really  turned.  Hope  dawned,  and  life  offered  fresh 
possibilities.  And  now — now  he  had  been  let  down 
afresh.  Before,  the  attack  had  been  directed  against  the 
worldly  hopes  of  a  man,  such  as  all  see  crushed  at  some 
time  in  life,  but  now  it  was  his  spirit  that  was  aimed  at. 
It  was  that  strong,  living  soul  which  was  the  mainspring 
of  his  moral  existence. 

He  had  lost  the  woman  he  loved  ;  that  was  something 
he  could  face,  something  he  could  live  down.  But  it  was 
the  manner  of  it.  It  was  the  fact  of  Will's  treachery 
that  had  opened  the  vital  wound. 

The  thought  chilled  his  heart,  it  crushed  him.  Yet  his 
anger  was  not  all  for  the  man  who  had  so  rankly  be- 
trayed his  trust,  his  bitterness  was  not  all  for  the  fact 
itself.  It  was  the  evidence  it  afforded  of  the  merciless 
hand  of  an  invisible  foe  at  work  against  him,  and  with 
which  he  was  powerless  to  contend.  The  subtlety  of  it 
— to  his  exaggerated  thought — was  stupendous. 

Slowly  his  bitterness  resolved  itself  to  an  unutterable 
pessimism  ;  the  acuteness  of  the  stimulant  was  wearing 
off.  There  was  an  unhealthy  streak  in  his  mind  some- 
where, a  streak  that  was  growing  under  these  blows 
which  had  been  so  liberally  dealt  him.  Where  was  the 
use  in  struggling  ?  he  began  to  ask  himself.  And  the 
poison  of  the  thought  acted  like  a  sedative.  He  grew 
strangely  calm ;  he  almost  experienced  pleasure  and 
comfort  under  its  influence.  Why  struggle?  Nothing 
could  go  right  with  him.  Nothing.  He  was  cursed — 
cursed  with  an  ill-starred  fortune.  This  sort  of  thing 


To  the  Red,  Dancing  Devil  57 

was  his  fate.  Fate.  That  was  it.  Why  struggle 
against  it  ? 

lie  had  but  this  one  short  life  to  live.  He  would  live 
it.  He  would  live  it  in  the  way  he  chose,  without  regard 
to  the  ethics  of  civilization.  What  mattered  if  he  short- 
ened it  by  years,  or  if  he  lived  to  what  might  be  looked 
upon  as  an  honored  old  age?  And  what  was  there  after- 
ward ?  He  even  began  to  doubt  if  there  was  anything 

before — if    there    was    any    just He   paused   and 

shivered  as  the  thought  came  to  him.  And  he  was  glad 
he  paused.  To  question  the  Deity  was  to  rank  himself 
at  once  with  a  sect  he  had  always  despised  as  self- 
centred  fools,  and  pitied  them  as  purblind  creatures  who 
were  in  some  degree  mentally  deficient. 

He  pulled  himself  together  and  returned  to  the  bar. 

"  Give  me  another  whiskey,"  he  demanded. 

But  Silas  Rocket  had  not  forgotten  ;  he  rarely  ever  did 
forget  things  in  the  nature  of  rudeness. 

"  I'd  hate  to,"  he  said  quickly ;  "  but  I  guess  I'll  sell 
you  'most  anything." 

Jim  accepted  the  snub  silently,  drank  his  whiskey,  paid 
for  it,  and  went  out. 

Rocket  looked  after  him.  His  eyes  were  unfriendly, 
but  then  they  were  generally  unfriendly.  As  the  doors 
swung  to  behind  his  customer  he  turned  and  looked  in 
through  the  doorway  behind  him. 

"  Ma  !  "  he  cried,  "  Jim  Thorpe's  been  in.  He's  had 
four  drinks  o'  whiskey,  and  took  a  bottle  with  him.  He's 
been  thinkin'  a  whole  heap,  too.  Guess  he's  goin'  on  a 
sky-high  drunk." 

And  a  shrewish  voice  called  back  to  him  in  a  tone  of 
feminine  spleen. 


j8  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Guess  it's  that  Marsham  gal,"  it  said  conclusively. 

A  woman's  instinct  is  a  wonderful  thing. 

Meanwhile  Jim  was  riding  across  the  market-place. 
Half-way  across  he  saw  Smallbones.  He  hailed  him, 
and  the  little  man  promptly  hurried  up  to  his  horse's 
side. 

Jim  knew  that  Smallbones  disliked  him.  But  just  now 
he  was  only  seeking  ordinary  information. 

"  Where'll  I  find  Restless  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  Where's 
he  working  ?  " 

"  Guess  I  see  him  over  by  Peter  Blunt's  shack.  Him 
an'  Peter  wus  gassin'  together,  while  you  wus  up  ther' 
seein'  Eve  Marsham,"  Smallbones  replied  meaningly. 
4<  I  'lows  Peter's  mostly  nosin'  around  when " 

"  Thanks,  I'll  ride  over." 

Jim  made  as  though  to  ride  off.  He  understood  the 
spiteful  nature  of  this  little  busybody,  and  was  in  no 
mood  to  listen  to  him  now.  But  Smallbones  was  some- 
thing of  a  leech  when  he  chose.  He  had  seen  the 
whiskey  bottle  sticking  out  of  Jim's  coat  pocket,  and  his 
Barnriff  thirst  and  curiosity  were  agog,  for  Jim  was  at  no 
time  a  man  to  waste  money  in  drink. 

"  Say,  givin'  a  party  ? "  he  sneered,  pointing  at  the 
bottle. 

"  Yes,  a  party  to  a  dead  friend,"  replied  Jim,  with  a 
wintry  smile.  "  It's  inexpensive,  less  trouble,  and  there's 
more  for  myself.  So  long." 

A  minute  or  two  later  Smallbones  was  serving  Angel 
Gay  in  his  store.  He  had  just  sold  him  a  butcher's  knife 
of  inferior  quality  at  double  New  York  prices. 

"  Say,"  he  observed,  in  the  intimate  manner  of  fellow 
villagers.  "  Who's  dead  ?  I  ain't  heard  nuthin'. 


To  the  Red,  Dancing  Devil  59 

Mebbe  you'll  know,  your  bizness  kind  o'  runnin'  in 
*hat  line." 

41  Ain't  heerd  tell,"  the  butcher  replied,  with  a  solemn 
shake  of  his  large  head.  "  An'  most  o'  them  come  my 
way,  too,"  he  added,  with  thoughtful  pride.  "  Here, 
wait."  He  drew  out  a  greasy  note-book.  "  Y'see  I  kind 
o'  keep  re-cords  o'  likely  folks.  Mebbe  some  o'  the 
names'll  prompt  you.  Now  ther's  M  Wilkes,  she's  got 
a  swellin',  I  don't  rightly  know  wher' — ther's  folk  talks 
of  it  bein'  toomer — deadly  toomer.  You  ain't  heerd  if 
she's  gone?"  he  inquired  hopefully,  while  he  thumbed 
the  pages  of  his  book  over. 

"  Nope.  I  ain't  heerd,"  said  Smallbones.  "  But  I 
don't  guess  it's  a  woman.  Friend  o'  Jim  Thorpe's." 

"  Ah,"  murmured  the  happy  butcher,  lifting  his  eyes 
to  the  ceiling  for  inspiration.  "  That  kind  o'  simplifies 
things.  Jim  Thorpe,"  he  pondered.  "  He  ain't  got  a 
heap  o'  friends,  as  you  might  say.  Ther's  Will  Hender- 
son/' he  turned  over  the  pages  of  his  book.  "  Um, 
healthy,  drinks  a  bit.  Hasty  temper,  but  good  for  fifty 
year  'less  he  gits  into  a  shootin'  racket.  'Tain't  him 
now?"  he  inquired  looking  up. 

"  No,  'tain't  him.  I  see  him  this  mornin'.  He  was 
soused  some.  Kind  o'  had  a  heavy  night.  Wot  about 
McLagan  of  the  «  AZ's  '  ?  " 

Again  the  butcher  turned  over  the  pages  of  his  note- 
book. But  finished  by  shaking  his  head  mournfully. 

"  No  luck,"  he  said.  "  McLagan's  'bout  forty,  never 
sick.  Only  chance  «  accident  on  ranch.'  " 

The  two  men  looked  blankly  at  each  other. 

"  Wot  set  you  thinkin'  ? "  inquired  the  butcher  at 
last. 


60  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Jest  nuthin'  o'  consequence.  Thorpe  sed  as  he  was 
givin'  a  party  to  a  dead  friend.  He'd  got  a  bottle  o' 
whiskey." 

"  Ah ! "  murmured  Gay,  with  an  air  of  relief,  re- 
turning his  note-book  to  his  pocket.  "  That  clears 
things.  He's  speakin'  metaphoric.  I'll  git  goin',  kind  o1 
busy.  I  ain't  sent  out  the  day's  meat  yet,  an'  I  got  to 
design  a  grave  fixin'  fer  Restless's  last  kid.  Y'see  it's  a 
gratis  job,  I  guess,  Restless  bein'  my  pardner,  as  you 
might  say.  So  long." 

Jim  reached  Peter  Blunt's  hut  as  the  carpenter  was* 
leaving  it.  Peter  was  at  the  door,  and  smiled  a  genial 
welcome.  He  and  Jim  were  excellent  friends.  They 
were  both  men  who  thought.  They  both  possessed  a 
wide  knowledge  of  things  which  were  beyond  the  focus 
of  the  Barnriff  people,  and  consequently  they  interested 
each  other. 

"  Howdy,  Jim,"  the  giant  called  to  him,  as  he  drew  up 
beside  the  carpenter. 

Jim  returned  his  greeting. 

"  I'll  come  along,  Peter,"  he  said.  "  Guess  I  need  a 
word  with  Restless  first." 

"  Right-ho." 

Jim  turned  to  the  man  at  his  side. 

"  I  won't  need  those  buildings,"  he  said  briefly. 

"But  I  ordered " 

Jim  cut  him  short. 

"  I'll  pay  you  anything  I  owe  you.  You  can  let  me 
know  how  much." 

He  passed  on  to  the  hut  without  waiting  for  a  reply. 
He  had  no  intention  of  arguing  anything  concerning  his 
future  plans  with  Restless.  If  the  carpenter  stood  to  lose 


To  the  Red,  Dancing  Devil  61 

he  would  see  him  right — well,  there  was  nothing  more 
about  it  that  concerned  him. 

Peter  was  inside  his  hut  examining  a  litter  of  auriferous 
soil  on  his  table  when  Jim  entered.  This  man's  home 
possessed  an  unique  interior.  It  was  such  as  one  would 
hardly  have  expected  in  a  bachelor  in  Barnriff.  There 
were  none  of  the  usual  impedimenta  of  a  prairie  man's 
abode,  there  was  no  untidiness,  no  dirt,  no  makeshift. 
Yet  like  the  man  himself  the  place  was  simple  and  un- 
pretentious. 

There  were  other  signs  of  the  man  in  it,  too.  There 
was  a  large  plain  wooden  bookcase  filled  to  overflowing 
with  a  choice  collection  of  reading  matter.  There  were 
rows  of  classics  in  several  languages,  there  was  modern 
fiction  of  the  better  kind,  there  were  many  volumes  of 
classical  verse.  In  short  it  was  the  collection  of  a  stu- 
dent, and  might  well  have  been  a  worthy  addition  to 
many  a  more  elaborate  library. 

There  were,  besides  this,  several  excellent  pictures  in 
water-color  on  the  walls,  and  the  absence  of  all  tawdry 
decoration  was  conspicuous.  Even  the  bed,  the  chair, 
and  the  table,  plain  enough,  goodness  knows,  had  an  air 
of  belonging  to  a  man  of  unusual  personality. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  adequately  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  character  of  Peter  Blunt  peeped  out  at 
one  from  every  corner  of  his  home,  nevertheless  it  did 
impress  itself  upon  his  every  visitor.  And  its  peculiar 
quality  affected  all  alike.  There  was  a  strangely  gentle 
strength  about  the  man  that  had  a  way  of  silencing  the 
most  boisterously  inclined.  He  had  a  quiet  humor,  too, 
that  was  often  far  too  subtle  for  the  cruder  minds  of 
Barnriff.  But  most  of  all  his  sympathy  was  a  thing  that 


62  The  One- Way  Trail 

left  no  room  for  self  in  his  thoughts.  No  one  attempted 
undue  familiarity  with  him ;  not  that  he  would  have  been 
likely  to  actively  resent  it,  but  simply,  in  his  presence 
nobody  had  any  inclination  that  way.  Nobody  could 
have  been  more  a  part  of  the  Barnriff  community  than 
Peter  Blunt,  and  yet  nobody  could  have  been  more  apart 
from  it. 

Peter  did  not  even  look  up  from  his  labors  when  his 
visitor  flung  himself  into  the  vacant  chair.  He  silently 
went  on  with  his  examination  of  first  one  fragment  of 
quartz  and  then  another.  And  the  man  in  the  chair 
watched  him  with  moody,  introspective  eyes.  It  was  a 
long  time  before  either  spoke,  and  when,  at  last,  the 
silence  was  broken,  it  was  by  Peter's  deep  mellow  voice. 

"  I'm  looking  for  gold  in  a  heap  of  dirt,  Jim,"  he  said, 
without  lifting  his  eyes.  "  It's  hard  to  find,  there's  such 
a  pile  of  the — dirt." 

"  Why  don't  you  wash  it  ?  " 

««  Yes,  I  s'pose  I  ought  to,"  Peter  allowed. 

Then  he  glanced  over,  and  his  mild  eyes  focused 
themselves  on  the  bottle  protruding  from  Jim's  pocket. 
For  some  moments  he  contemplated  it,  and  then  he 
looked  up  into  his  friend's  face. 

"  How's  the  '  AZ's  *  ?  "  he  inquired  casually. 

"  Oh,  all  right" 

"  In  for  a — vacation  ?  " 

Jim  stirred  uneasily.  There  was  a  directness  about 
the  other's  manner  that  was  disconcerting.  He  laughed 
mirthlessly,  and  shifted  his  position  so  that  his  bottle  of 
whiskey  was  concealed. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I'm  getting  back — sometime  to- 
night." 


To  the  Red,  Dancing  Devil  63 

"  Ah."  Then  Peter  went  on  after  a  pause  :  "  I'm  glad 
things  are  going  well  for  you.  Restless  told  me  he'd 
got  an  order  from  you  for  some  buildings  on  your  own 
land." 

Jim  turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  doorway 
and  found  them  gazing  upon  Eve  Marsham's  little  home 
beyond  it.  As  Peter  offered  no  further  comment  he  was 
finally  forced  to  reply. 

«  I've — I've  just  canceled  that  order." 

«  Eh  ?  " 

Jim  turned  on  him  irritably. 

"  Confound  it,  Peter,  you  heard  what  I  said.  I've  can- 
celed that  order.  Do  you  get  it  now  ?  " 

The  large  man  nodded.  The  brains  behind  his  mild 
eyes  were  working  swiftly,  shrewdly. 

"  Will's  in  town.  Been  in  since  yesterday  morning/ 
he  said  after  a  while.  "  Seen  him  ?  " 

Jim  suddenly  sprang  from  his  seat,  the  moody  fire  of 
his  dark  eyes  blazing  furiously. 

"  Seen  him  !  Seen  him  !  "  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  let- 
ting loose  of  all  the  bitterness  and  smouldering  passion 
which  had  been  so  long  pent  up.  "  Seen  him  ?  I 
should  say  I  have.  I've  seen  him  as  he  really  is.  I've 
seen " 

He  broke  off  and  began  to  pace  the  room.  Peter  was 
still  at  the  table.  His  hands  were  still  raking  at  the  pile 
of  dirt.  His  face  was  quite  unmoved  at  the  other's  evident 
passion  ;  only  his  eyes  displayed  his  interest. 

"  God  !  but  the  thought  of  him  sets  me  crazy,"  Jim 
went  on  furiously.  Then  he  paused,  and  stood  confront- 
ing the  other.  "  Peter,  I  came  in  here  without  knowing 
why  on  earth  I  came.  I  came  because  something  forced 


64  The  One- Way  Trail 

me,  I  s'pose.  Now  I  know  what  made  me  come.  I've 
got  to  get  it  off  my  chest,  and  you've  got  to  listen  to  it.'* 

Peter's  smile  was  the  gentlest  thing  imaginable. 

"  Guess  that's  easy,"  he  said.  "  I  knew  there  was 
something  you'd  got  that  wasn't  good  for  you  to  hold. 
Sort  of  fancied  you'd  like  to  get  rid  of  it — here." 

The  calm  sincerity  of  the  man  was  convincing.  Jim 
felt  its  effect  without  appreciation,  for  the  hot  blood  of 
bitterness  still  drove  him.  His  wrongs  were  still  heavy 
upon  him,  water-logging  his  better  sense,  and  leaving  it 
rudderless. 

He  hesitated.  It  was  not  that  he  did  not  know  how 
to  begin.  It  was  not  that  he  had  any  doubts  in  his  mind. 
Just  for  a  second  he  wondered  at  the  strange  influence 
which  was  forcing  his  story  from  him.  It  puzzled  him — it 
almost  angered  him.  And  something  of  this  anger  ap- 
peared in  his  manner  and  tone  when  he  spoke. 

"  Will  Henderson's  a  damned  traitor/' he  finally  burst  out. 

Peter  nodded. 

"  We're  all  that,"  he  said  gently  :  "  if  it's  only  to  our- 
selves." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  your  moralizing,"  the  other  cried 
roughly.  "  Listen,  this  is  the  low,  mean  story  of  it. 
You'll  have  little  enough  moralizing  to  do  when  you've 
heard  it." 

Then  he  told  Peter  of  their  meeting  the  day  before, 
and  of  the  friendly  honesty  of  his  purpose  in  the  shooting 
match.  How  Will  had  accepted,  shot,  and  lost.  This 
part  he  told  with  a  grim  setting  of  his  teeth,  and  it  was 
not  until  he  came  to  the  story  of  the  man's  treachery 
that  his  manner  became  intemperate.  Then  he  spoke 
with  all  the  color  of  a  strongly  passionate  temperament, 


To  the  Red,  Dancing  Devil  65 

when  the  heart  is  stirred  beyond  all  reason.  And  the 
giant  listened  to  it,  silent  and  attentive.  What  thoughts 
the  story  inspired  in  the  listener  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible to  say.  His  face  was  calm.  There  was  no  sign 
of  any  enthralled  attention.  There  was  no  light  in  his 
eyes  beyond  the  kindliness  that  ever  seemed  to  shine  there. 
And  at  its  conclusion  Jim's  underlying  feeling,  that  al- 
most subconscious  thought  which  hitherto  had  found  ex- 
pression only  in  bitter  feeling  and  the  uncertain  activi- 
ties of  his  mind,  broke  out  into  raving. 

"  It's  a  curse  that's  on  me,  Peter  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  tell 
you  it's  a  curse  !  I've  never  had  a  chance.  Everything 
from  the  start  has  been  broken  just  when  its  completion 
was  almost  achieved.  When  I  look  back  I  can  see 
it  written  all  along  the  path  I've  trodden,  in  the  ruins  I've 
left  behind  me.  Why,  why,  I  ask,  am  I  chosen  for 
such  persecution  ?  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  it  ?  I'vs 
played  the  game.  I've  worked.  God  knows  how  I've 
worked.  And  everything  I've  done  has  come  to  nothing, 
and  not  because  I've  always  made  mistakes,  or  committed 
foolishnesses.  Every  smash  has  been  brought  about  by 
influences  that  could  not  have  been  humanly  foreseen.  T'm 
cursed.  Cursed  by  an  evil  fate  it  is  beyond  my  power  to 
fight  God  ?  It  almost  makes  one  question.  Is  there  a 
God  ?  A  good  God  who  permits  such  a  fate  to  pursue  a 
man  ?  Is  there  an  all-powerful  God,  ruling  and  guiding 
every  human  action  ?  Is  there?  Is  there  a  God,  a  merci- 
ful, loving  God  watching  over  us,  such  as  kiddies  are 
taught  to  believe  in  ?  Is  there  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

Peter's  answer  so  readily,  so  firmly  spoken  was  ar- 
resting. 


66  The  One-Way  Trail 

"  Yes,  Jim.  There's  a  God,"  he  went  on,  without  any 
display.  "  There's  a  great  big  God — just  such  a  God  as 
you  and  I  have  knelt  to  when  we  were  bits  of  kiddies. 
Maybe  He's  so  big  that  our  poor,  weak  brains  can't  under- 
stand Him.  But  He's  there,  right  up  above  us,  and  for 
every  poor  mean  atom  we  call  •  man  '  He's  set  out  a  trail 
to  walk  on.  It's  called  the  One-way  Trail.  And  the 
One-way  Trail  is  just  the  trail  of  Life.  It's  chock  full 
of  pitfalls  and  stumbling-blocks,  that  make  us  cuss  like 
mad.  But  it's  good  for  us  to  walk  over  it.  There  are 
no  turnings  or  by-paths,  and  no  turning  back.  And, 
maybe,  when  we  get  to  the  end  something  will  have  been 
achieved  in  His  scheme  of  things  that  our  silly  brains  can't 
grasp.  Yes,  there  is  a  God,  Jim,  and  you're  just  hitting 
the  trail  He's  set  for  you." 

But  Jim  was  in  no  reasonable  mood. 

"Then  where's  the  cursed  justice "  he  began 

heatedly.  But  broke  off  as  the  other  shrugged  his  great 
shoulders. 

He  waited  for  Peter  to  speak.  He  waited,  stirred  to 
a  mad  contentiousness,  to  tear  his  friend's  arguments  to 
ribbons,  and  fling  their  broken  remains  back  in  his  face. 
But  no  arguments  were  forthcoming.  Peter  understood 
his  temper,  and  saw  the  uselessness  of  argument.  Besides, 
he  could  smell  the  reek  of  whiskey. 

He  thought  swiftly  with  all  the  wisdom  of  a  great 
understanding  and  experience.  And  finally  his  manner 
changed  utterly.  He  suddenly  became  cordially  sym- 
pathetic with  the  other's  angry  mood.  He  even  agreed 
with  him. 

"  Maybe  you're  right,  though,  Jim,"  he  said.  "  Things 
have  been  mighty  hard  for  you.  You've  had  a  heap  of 


To  the  Red,  Dancing  Devil  67 

trouble.  I  can't  say  I  wonder  at  you  taking  it  bad,  and 
thinking  things.  But — but  what  are  you  going  to  do 
now  ?  Buck  the  game  afresh  ?  " 

Jim  did  not  pause  to  think.  He  jumped  speedily  at  the 
bait  held  out  to  him  so  subtly. 

"  Yes,"  he  cried,  with  a  bitter  laugh.  "  But  it'll  be  a 
different  game.  A  game  most  folks  out  here  sure  know 
kow  to  play.  We're  most  of  us  life's  derelicts.  I'll  buck 
it,  Peter,  and  set  the  devil  dancing." 

The  other  nodded. 

"  I  know.  I  know.  He's  always  ready  to  dance  if  we 
pay  for  the  tune." 

But  Jim  was  lost  in  his  own  wild  thoughts. 

"  Yes,  and  he's  good  company,  too,  Peter,"  he  cried. 
"  Devilish  good."  He  laughed  at  his  own  humor. 
"  The  harder  you  play  the  harder  and  more  merrily 
he'll  dance.  We've  got  one  life.  The  trail's  marked 
out  for  us.  And,  by  gum,  we'll  live  while  we  can.  Why 
should  we  sweat  and  toil,  and  have  it  squeezed  out  of  us 
whenever — they  think  fit  ?  I'll  spend  every  dollar  I  make. 
I'll  have  all  that  life  can  give  me.  I'll  pick  the  fruit 
within  my  reach.  I'll  do  as  the  devil,  or  my  stomach, 
guides  me.  I'll  have  my  time " 

"And  then?" 

Jim  sat  down.  He  was  smiling,  but  the  smile  was  un- 
real. 

"  Then  ?  Why,  I'll  go  right  down  and  out,  and  they 
can  kick  my  carcase  out  to  the  town  '  dumps.' ' 

Peter  nodded  again. 

"  Let's  begin  now,"  he  said,  with  staggering  abrupt- 
ness. And  he  pointed  at  the  bottle  in  Jim's  pocket. 

"  Eh  ?  "  the  other  was  startled. 


68  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Let's  begin  now,"  Peter  said,  with  his  calm  smile. 
"  You're  good  company,  Jim.  Where  you  go,  I'll  travel^ 
too — if  it's  to  hell." 

The  smile  had  vanished  from  Jim's  eyes.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  wondered  stupidly,  and  during  that  moment,  as 
Peter's  hand  was  outstretched  for  the  bottle,  he  passed  it 
across  to  him. 

The  other  took  it,  and  looked  at  the  label.  It  was  a 
well-known  brand  of  rye  whiskey.  And  as  he  looked  he 
seemed  to  gather  warmth  and  enthusiasm.  It  was  as 
though  the  sight  of  the  whiskey  were  irresistible  to  him. 

"  Rye,"  he  cried.  "  The  juice  for  oiling  the  devil's 
joints."  And  his  lips  seemed  to  smack  over  the  words. 

Jim  was  watching.  He  didn't  understand.  Peter's 

offer  to  go  with  him  to  hell  was  staggering,  and 

But  the  other  went  on  in  his  own  mildly  enthusiastic 
way. 

"  We'll  start  right  here.  I'll  get  two  glasses.  We'll 
drink  this  up,  and  then  we'll  get  some  more  at  the  saloon, 
and — we'll  paint  the  town  red."  He  rose  and  fetched  two 
glasses  from  a  cupboard  and  set  them  on  the  table.  Then 
he  took  his  sheath  knife  from  his  belt,  and,  with  a  skilful 
tap,  knocked  the  neck  off  the  bottle. 

"  No  water,"  he  said.  "  The  stuff '11  act  quicker.  We 
want  it  to  get  right  up  into  our  heads  quick.  We  want 
the  mad  whirl  of  the  devil's  dance  ;  we " 

"  But  why  should  you !  " 

"  Tut,  man  !  Your  gait's  good  enough  for  me.  There's 
room  for  more  fools  than  one  in  hell.  Here !  Here's 
your  medicine." 

He  rose  and  passed  a  glass  across  to  Jim,  while  the 
other  he  held  aloft. 


To  the  Red,  Dancing  Devil  69 

"  Here,  boy,"  he  cried,  smiling  down  into  Jim's  face 
"  Here,  I'll  give  you  a  toast."  The  stormy  light  in  the 
ranchman's  eyes  had  died  out,  and  in  them  there  lurked  a 
question  that  had  something  like  fear  in  it.  But  his  glass 
was  not  raised,  and  Peter  urged  him.  "  A  toast,  lad, 
huyk  your  glass  right  up,  and  we'll  drink  it  standing." 

Jim  rose  obediently  but  slowly  to  his  feet,  and  his  glass 
was  lifted  half-heartedly.  There  was  no  responsive  en- 
thusiasm in  him  now ;  it  had  gone  utterly.  Peter's  voice 
suddenly  filled  the  room  with  a  mocking  laugh,  and  his 
toast  rang  out  in  tones  of  sarcasm  the  more  biting  for 
their  very  mildness. 

"  The  devil's  abroad.  Here's  to  the  devil,  because 
there's  no  God  and  the  devil  reigns.  Nothing  we  see  in 
the  world  is  the  work  of  anybody  but  the  devil.  The 
soil  that  yields  us  the  good  grain,  the  grass  that  feeds  our 
stock,  the  warm,  beneficent  sun  that  ripens  all  the  worldf 
the  beautiful  flowers,  the  magnificent  forests,  the  great 
hills,  the  seas,  the  rivers,  the  rain ;  everything  in  life.  All 
the  beautiful  world,  that  thrills  with  a  perfect  life,  that 
rolls  its  way  through  aeons  of  time;  held  in  space  by  a 
power  that  nothing  can  shake.  All  the  myriads  of  worlds 
and  universes  we  see  shining  in  the  limitless  billions  of 
miles  of  space  at  night,  everything,  everything.  It  is  the 
arch-fiend's  work,  for  there  is  no  God.  Here's  to  the  mad, 
red,  dancing  devil,  to  whom  we  go  !  " 

Jim's  glass  crashed  to  the  floor.  He  seized  the  bottle 
of  whiskey  and  served  that  in  the  same  way. 

"  Stop  it,  you  mad  fool !  "  he  cried  in  horror.  And 
Peter  slowly  put  his  whiskey  down  untasted. 

Then  the  dark,  horror-stricken  eyes  looked  into  the 
smiling  blue  ones,  and  in  a  flash  to  Jim's  troubled  mind 


70  The  One-Way  Trail 

came  inspiration.  There  was  a  long,  long  pause,  during 
which  eye  met  eye  unflinchingly.  Then  Jim  reached  out 
a  hand. 

"  Thanks,  Peter,"  he  said. 

Peter  shook  his  grizzled  head  as  he  gripped  the  out- 
stretched hand. 

'•  I'm  glad,"  he  said  with  a  quaint  smile, "  real  glad  you 
came  along — and  stopped  me  drinking  that  toast. 
Going  ?  " 

Jim  nodded.  He,  too,  was  smiling  now,  as  he  moved 
to  the  door. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  must,"  Peter  went  on.  "  I've 
got  work,  too."  He  pointed  at  his  pile  of  dirt  on  the 
table.  "  You  see,  there's  gold  in  all  that  muck,  and — I've 
got  to  find  it." 


CHAPTER  VI 

EVE   AND   WILL 

ELIA  was  staring  at  his  sister  with  wide,  expectant  eyes. 
Suspense  was  evidently  his  dominant  feeling  at  the  mo- 
ment. A  suspense  which  gave  him  a  sickly  feeling  in  the 
pit  of  the  stomach.  It  was  the  apprehension  of  a  prisoner 
awaiting  a  verdict ;  the  nauseating  sensation  of  one  who 
sees  death  facing  him,  with  the  chances  a  thousand  to  one 
against  him.  A  half-plaited  rawhide  rope  was  lying  in  his 
lap ;  the  hobby  of  making  these  his  sister  had  persuaded 
him  to  turn  to  profitable  account.  He  was  expert  in  their 
manufacture,  and  found  a  ready  market  for  his  wares  on 
the  neighboring  ranches. 

Eve  was  staring  out  of  the  window  considering,  her 
pretty  face  seriously  cast,  her  eyes  far  away.  Will  Hender- 
son, his  boyishly  handsome  face  moodily  set,  was  standing 
beside  the  work-table  that  occupied  the  centre  of  the 
living-room,  the  fingers  of  one  hand  restlessly  groping 
among  the  litter  of  dress  stuffs  lying  upon  it.  He  was 
awaiting  her  answer  to  a  question  of  his,  awaiting  it  in 
suspense,  like  Elia,  but  with  different  feelings. 

Nor  did  the  girl  seem  inclined  to  hurry.  To  her  mind 
a  lot  depended  on  her  answer.  Her  acquiescence  meant 
the  giving  up  of  all  the  little  features  that  had  crept  into 
her  struggling  years  of  independence.  There  was  her 
brother.  She  must  think  for  his  welfare.  There  was  her 
business,  worked  up  so  laboriously.  There  was  the  pos- 


72  The  One- Way  Trail 

sible  removal  from  BarnrifF  to  the  world  of  hills  and 
valleys,  which  was  Will's  world.  There  were  so  many 
things  to  think  of, — yet — yet  she  knew  her  answer  be- 
forehand. She  loved,  and  she  was  a  woman,  worldly- 
wise,  but  unworldly. 

The  evening  was  drawing  in,  and  the  soft  shadows 
were  creeping  out  of  the  corners  of  the  little  room. 
There  was  a  gentle  mellowness  in  the  twilight  which 
softened  the  darns  in  the  patchwork  picture  the  place 
presented.  This  room  was  before  all  things  her  shop ; 
and,  in  consequence,  comfort  and  the  picturesque  were 
sacrificed  to  utility.  Yet  there  was  a  pleasant  femininity 
about  it.  A  femininity  which  never  fails  to  act  upon  the 
opposite  sex.  It  carries  with  it  an  influence  that  can 
best  be  likened,  in  a  metaphoric  sense,  to  a  mental  aroma 
which  soothes  the  jagged  edges  of  the  rougher  senses. 
It  lulls  them  to  a  gentle  feeling  of  seductive  delight,  a 
condition  which  lays  men  so  often  open  to  a  bad  woman's 
unscrupulousness,  but  also  to  a  good  woman's  influence 
for  bringing  out  all  that  is  greatest  and  best  in  their 
nature. 

The  waiting  was  too  long  for  Will.  He  was  a  lover 
of  no  great  restraint. 

"  Well,  Eve  ?  "  he  demanded,  almost  sharply.  "  Two 
months  to-day.  Will  you  ?  We  can  get  the  parson 
feller  that  comes  here  from  Rocky  Springs  to — marry 
us." 

The  dwarf  brushed  his  rope  out  of  his  lap,  and,  rising, 
hobbled  to  Eve's  side,  and  stood  peering  up  into  her  face 
in  his  bird  like  way.  But  he  offered  no  word. 

Eve's  hand  caressed  his  silky  head.  She  nodded, 
nodded  at  the  distant  hills  through  the  window. 


Eve  and  Will  73 

"  Yes,  Will,  dear." 

The  man  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant,  while  Elia  slunk 
away.  The  youth  drew  back  and  turned  tail,  slinking 
off  as  though  driven  by  a  cruel  lash  in  the  hand  of  one 
from  whom  kindness  is  expected.  He  did  not  return  to 
his  seat,  but  passed  out  of  the  house.  And  the  girl  and 
man,  in  their  moment  of  rapture,  forgot  him.  At  that 
moment  their  lives,  their  happiness,  their  love,  were  the 
bounds  of  their  whole  thought. 

For  moments  they  stood  locked  in  each  other's  arms, 
oblivious  to  all  but  the  hot  passion  that  ran  through  their 
veins.  They  were  lost  in  the  dream  of  love  which  was 
theirs.  The  world  was  nothing,  life  was  nothing,  except 
that  it  gave  them  this  power  to  love.  They  drank  in  each 
other's  kisses  till  the  woman  lay  panting  in  the  fierce 
embrace  of  the  man,  and  he — he  was  devouring  her  with 
eyes  which  hungered  for  her,  like  the  eyes  of  a  starving 
man,  while  he  crushed  her  in  the  arms  of  a  man  savage 
with  the  delicious  pain  of  his  passion. 

At  last  it  was  the  woman  who  stirred  to  release  her- 
self. It  is  ever  the  woman  who  leads  where  love  domi- 
nates. She  gently  but  firmly  freed  herself.  She  held  his 
hands  and  looked  up  into  his  glowing  eyes.  She  had 
something  to  say,  something  to  ask  him,  and,  reluctant 
though  she  be,  she  must  abandon  for  the  time  the  bliss- 
ful moments  when  their  mutual  love  was  burning  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  else.  Will's  passionate  eyes  held  her, 
and  for  some  moments  she  could  not  speak.  Then,  with 
an  effort,  she  released  his  hands  and  defensively  turned  her 
eyes  away. 

"  I — I  want  to  speak  to  you  about— Jim,"  she  said  at 
last,  a  little  hesitatingly. 


74  The  One- Way  Trail 

And  the  fire  in  the  man's  eyes  abruptly  died  out. 

"  He  was  here  this  morning,  and — he  was  a  little 
strange." 

Will  propped  himself  against  the  table,  and  his  face, 
strangely  pale,  was  turned  to  the  window.  Nor  did  he 
see  the  snow-capped  hills  which  bounded  the  entire 
view  Guilty  thoughts  filled  his  mind  and  crowded  out 
jeverything  else. 

41  Well  ?  "  he  demanded,  as  Eve  waited  for  him  to 
'Speak. 

"  You  are  such  friends,  dear,  that  I  wanted  to  ask  you 
— Do  you  know  why  he  came  to  see  me  ?" 

Will  shook  his  head.  Then  a  smile  struggled  round 
his  clean  shaven  mouth. 

"  Maybe  the  same  reason  that  makes  most  fellows  crowd 
round  a  pretty  girl." 

It  was  a  wistful  smile  that  accompanied  the  girl's 
denial. 

"  I  would  like  to  think  it  was  only  that,"  she  said 
"Do  you  know  I  am  very,  very  fond  of  Jim.  No,  not 
not  in  the  way  you  mean,"  she  exclaimed  hastily,  as  the 
man  turned  on  her,  hot  with  the  jealousy  which  was  so 
much  a  part  of  his  Celtic  nature.  "  I  have  always  been 
fond  of  Jim.  He's  so  generous  ;  so  kind  and  self-sacri- 
ficing. Do  you  know,  Will>  I  believe  he'd  give  up  any- 
thing to  you.  It  is  my  conviction  that  his  first  thought 
in  life  is  for  your  welfare  and  happiness.  And  some- 
how, it — it  doesn't  seem  right.  No,  I  don't  mean  that 
you  don't  deserve  it,  but  that — well,  don't  you  think 
a  man  should  fight  every  battle  in  which  he  finds  himself 
on  his  own  account  ?  Don't  you  think,  you  who  are  so 
capable,  that  the  struggles  that  every  man  must  en- 


Eve  and  Will  75 

counter  in  life  demand  the  whole  of  Tiis  energies  to  bring 
them  to  a  successful  end  ?  I  do.  It's  not  a  matter  of 
self  exactly,  but  we  are  all  so  full  of  weaknesses  that  this 
unselfish  way  of  dividing  our  energies  is  apt  to  weaken 
our  own  defenses.  Thus  the  scheme  for  our  own  uplift- 
ing, our  own  purification,  rather  suffers.  You  see,  I 
think  we  are  here  on  this  earth  for  the  purpo<  e  of  better- 
ing ourselves  and  preparing  for  that  future,  which — I 
know  what  I  am  saying  sounds  selfish,  but  really,  really, 
I  don't  think  it  is.  Do  you  know,  Jim  came  to  ask  me 
to  marry  him?  I  know  he  did.  I  avoided  his  direct 
question,  and  told  him  that  you  asked  me  last  night,  and 
that  I  had  given  you  my  promise.  Well,  he  accepted  it 
as  though,  as  though  he  had  no  business  to  want  what 
you  wanted.  And  his  only  comment  was  that  you  were 
a  « good  boy,'  and  that  he  thought  you'd«make  me  a 
good  husband.  Now,  don't  laugh" — the  man  showed 
not  the  slightest  inclination  to  do  so.  His  face  was  livid ; 
there  was  something  like  horror  in  his  eyes — "  but  if  I'd 
been  a  man  in  his  place  I  should  have  been  just  mad. 
Do  you  think  I'd  have  said  that?  No,  Will;  my 
thoughts  would  have  been  murderous.  But  with  him  it 
was  otherwise,  I'm  sure.  Yet  he  loved  me,  and  he  was 
hurt.  I  could  see  it — oh,  I  could  see  it.  The  agony  in 
his  eyes  nearly  broke  my  heart.  Will,  I  think  we  owe 
Jim  something.  I  know  we  can't  ever  repay  it.  But  we 
owe  him  surely.  You  do,  even  more  than  I.  I  can't 
bear  to  think  of  his  hurt." 

The  girl  ceased  speaking.  Will  had  made  no  attempt 
to  stop  her,  yet  every  word  she  had  spoken  lashed  him  to 
a  savage  self-defense. 

"  I — I  didn't  know  he  loved  you,"  he  lied.     Then  he 


70  The  One-Way  Trail 

stopped  with  a  sickening  impulse.  But  in  a  moment  he 
went  on.  He  had  taken  the  plunge,  and  his  selfish  na- 
ture came  to  his  aid.  "  Poor  Jim,"  he  said,  with  appar- 
ent feeling.  "  It's  hard  luck — mighty  hard  luck."  But, 
then,  Eve,  a  feller  can't  expect  a  man  to  stand  by  where 
a  woman's  concerned.  Not  even  a  brother.  You  see, 
dear,  I  love  you  so  bad.  I'd  lose  anything  but  you,  yes, 
even  my  life."  He  drew  nearer  to  her,  but  the  girl  made 
no  response.  "  Jim's  got  to  take  his  '  medicine.'  Same 
as  I'd  have  taken  mine,  if  you'd  loved  him.  If  Jim 
squeals,  he's  not " 

"  Oh,  don't  be  afraid  of  that,"  Eve  exclaimed,  with 
some  warmth.  "  Jim  won't '  squeal.'  It's  not  in  him  to 
•  squeal.'  He'll  take  his  *  medicine '  with  any  man.  I'm 
not  thinking  of  that.  It's — oh,  I  don't  know — only  I 
think  you're  lucky  to  have  such  a  friend,  and  I — oh,  I 
wish  we  could  do  something  for  him." 

Eve  did  not  know  how  to  express  all  she  felt,  and  Will 
did  not  help  her.  He  displayed  no  sympathy,  but 
seemed  absolutely  indifferent,  and  she  almost  felt  angry 
with  him. 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  done."  Then  something 
prompted  the  man,  and  he  went  on  harshly.  "  It  was  a 
fair  fight  and  no  favor.  I  love  you,  Eve ;  God  knows 
how  I  love  you.  And  I  wouldn't  give  you  up  or  lose 
you  for  fifty  Jims.  If  Jim  stood  in  the  way  between  us 
I'd — I'd — push  him  out  at — any  cost." 

"  Will !  "  There  was  horror  in  the  girl's  exclamation. 
Then  the  woman  in  her  rose  at  the  contemplation  of  the 
man's  love  and  passion  for  her.  How  could  it  be  other- 
wise ?  She  came  to  him,  and  was  hugged  in  arms  that 
almost  set  her  gasping. 


Eve  and  Will  77 

"  I  love  you,  Eve.     I  love  you  !     I  love  you  ! " 

Their  lips  met,  and  the  woman  clung  to  him  in  the 
rush  of  her  responsive  passion. 

"  Oh,  Will,"  she  cried  at  length.  "  It's  good  to  be 
loved  as  you  love.  It's  so  good.  Kiss  me,  dear,  kiss 
me  again.  I  am  all  yours." 

The  man  needed  no  bidding.  He  had  wronged  his 
friend  ;  had  lied,  lied  in  the  worst  way  a  man  can  lie,  to 
make  sure  of  her.  He  appreciated  the  cost,  and  its  value 
made  those  moments  all  the  more  precious. 

But  he  had  no  real  regret  for  the  wrong  he  had  com- 
mitted. And  this  was  an  unerring  index  to  his  nature. 
He  would  stand  at  nothing  where  his  own  desires  were 
at  stake. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    CHICKEN-KILLING 

AN  hour  later  Will  left  the  house.  He  felt  good.  He 
felt  that  he  wanted  to  shout  aloud  his  good  fortune.  To 
a  temperament  like  his  there  was  only  one  outlet  to  such 
feelings.  He  would  go  down  to  the  saloon  and  treat  the 
boys.  They  should  share  in  his  good  fortune — to  the 
extent  of  drink.  He  cared  nothing  for  them  in  reality. 
He  cared  nothing  for  anybody  but  himself.  He  wanted 
drink,  and  to  treat  the  boys  served  as  an  excuse. 

Since  winning  Eve  he  had  debated  with  himself  the 
matter  of  "  straightening  up  "  with  regard  to  drink.  It  is 
the  usual  condition  of  mind  upon  such  occasions  amongst 
men  who  live  hard.  It  is  an  upward  moral  tendency  for 
the  moment,  and  often  the  highest  inclination  of  their 
life's  moral  switchback,  the  one  that  inevitably  precedes 
the  longest  and  severest  drop.  At  no  other  time  would 
he  have  needed  an  excuse  to  drink. 

He  hurried  so  as  not  to  lose  anything  of  the  evening's 
entertainment  at  the  saloon,  but  his  way  did  not  take  him 
direct.  He  had  left  the  bulk  of  his  money  secreted  in  the 
cupboard  in  his  old  hut,  a  place  he  still  kept  in  which 
to  sleep  when  business  or  pleasure  brought  him  in  from 
the  hunting-grounds  of  the  trade  which  was  his. 

But  the  deviation  was  considerable,  nor  had  he  the  as- 
sistance of  any  outside  influence  to  keep  his  mind  in 
focus.  Thus  he  found  it  drifting  whithersoever  it  chose. 
It  passed  from  Eve  to  the  saloon,  to  the  money  he  re- 


The  Chicken-Killing  79 

quired  to  help  him  pass  the  evening,  to  a  dozen  and  one 
tilings,  and  finally  settled  itself  upon  the  one  subject  he 
would  rather  have  avoided.  It  focused  itself  upon 
Jim  Thorpe,  and,  try  as  he  would  to  break  away  from 
this  thrall,  it  clung  tenaciously. 

He  could  not  get  away  from  Eve's  spoken  sympathy 
for  Jim,  and  every  word  he  recollected  stung  him  poison- 
ously.  His  regard  for  Jim  was  of  the  frailest  texture. 
He  had  always  regarded  him  as  something  inevitable  in 
his  life,  and  that  was  all.  Nor  was  he  to  be  considered 
in  the  least  where  his  own  desires  were  concerned.  Yet 
he  cursed  that  shooting  match.  He  cursed  himself  for 
going  to  see  Jim  at  all.  Why  had  he  not  gone  to  Eve 
in  the  first  place?  Then  he  promptly  reassured  himself 
that  he  had  only  gone  to  Jim  out  of  a  sense  of  honor. 
Yes,  it  was  that  shooting  match.  Jim  had  forced  it  on 
him.  That  was  it.  It  was  wholly  Jim's  fault.  How 
was  he  to  know  he  was  going  to  lose  ?  There  was  no 
doubt  that  Jim  was  a  fine  shot,  but  so  was  he. 

Then  through  his  brain  flashed  another  thought. 
Maybe  it  had  inspiration  in  the  thought  of  Jim's  shoot- 
ing. What  would  happen  when  he  met  Jim,  as,  sooner 
or  later,  he  knew  he  must?  What  would  Jim's  attitude 
be?  He  frowned  heavily.  This  had  not  occurred  to 
him  before.  Would  there  be  trouble?  Well,  if  there 
were  it  might  be  easier,  at  least  less  complicated.  On 
the  other  hand,  what  else  could  Jim  do?  It  was  un- 
comfortably puzzling.  His  own  disposition  made  it  im- 
possible for  him  to  probe  the  possibilities  of  such  a  nature 
as  Jim's. 

He  could  not  answer  his  question,  and  it  left  him  with 
a  feeling  of  apprehension  which  no  prospect  of  violence 


8o  The  One- Way  Trail 

could  have  inspired  in  him.  He  told  himself  he  was 
sorry,  regretted  the  whole  occurrence,  but  there  was  less 
truth  in  his  mental  apology  than  in  the  feelings  which 
his  thoughts  had  inspired.  Though  in  his  heart  he  knew 
he  had  done  wrong,  he  had  acted  with  the  grossest  dis- 
honor toward  Jim,  he  would  not  admit  it ;  consequently 
he  experienced  the  nervous  apprehension  which  every 
wrong-doer,  however  hardened,  always  feels  at  the 
thought  of  being  confronted  with  his  crime. 

By  the  time  he  reached  his  hut  he  was  in  a  bad  mood. 
He  not  only  rebelled  against  the  worry  of  his  thought, 
but  wanted  to  vent  his  feelings.  He  probably  hated  Jim 
just  then,  and  a  meeting  with  him  at  that  moment  would 
undoubtedly  have  provoked  a  quarrel. 

He  was  approaching  his  hut  from  the  back.  The  place 
was  in  darkness,  and  he  groped  in  his  pockets  for  matches. 
He  had  to  pass  the  old  hen-roost,  which,  in  their  early 
days  in  Barnriff,  had  kept  him  and  Jim  supplied  with 
fresh  eggs.  As  he  drew  abreast  of  this  he  suddenly 
halted  and  stood  listening.  There  was  a  commotion 
going  on  inside,  and  it  startled  him.  He  could  hear  the 
flapping  of  wings,  the  scuffling  and  clucking  of  the 
frightened  hens. 

For  the  moment  he  thought  of  the  coyote,  that  thiev- 
ing scavenger  of  the  prairie  which  is  ever  on  the  prowl 
at  night.  But  the  next  instant  he  remembered  the 
chicken  killing  going  on  in  the  village.  He  ran  to  the 
door  of  the  roost  and  flung  it  wide  open.  Without  wait- 
ing for  a  light  he  stooped  down  and  made  his  way  in. 
And  that  act  of  stooping  probably  saved  his  life.  Some- 
thing whistled  over  his  bent  body,  splitting  the  air  like  a 
well-swung  sword.  He  knew  instinctively  it  was  a  knife 


The  Chicken-Killing  81 

aimed  at  him.  But  the  next  moment  he  had  grappled 
with  his  assailant,  and  held  him  fast  in  his  two  strong 
arms. 

From  that  moment  there  was  no  further  struggle.  As 
he  dragged  his  prisoner  out  he  wondered.  Then,  in  a 
moment,  his  wonder  passed,  as  he  felt  a  set  of  sharp, 
strong  human  teeth  fasten  themselves  upon  the  flesh  of 
his  forearm.  He  dropped  his  hold  and  with  his  free 
hand  seized  his  captive  by  the  throat  and  choked  him 
until  the  teeth  released  their  grip. 

To  rush  his  prisoner  along  before  him  to  the  door  of 
the  hut  and  thrust  him  inside  was  curiously  easy.  There 
was  no  resistance  or  struggle  for  freedom.  The  captive 
seemed  even  anxious  to  avoid  all  further  effort.  Nor 
was  there  a  word  spoken  until  Will  had  struck  a  match 
and  lit  the  guttered  candle  stuck  in  the  neck  of  a  whiskey 
bottle.  Then,  with  the  revealing  light,  he  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  blank  astonishment. 

Elia,  Eve's  brother,  stood  cowering  before  him  with 
his  usually  mild  eyes  filled  with  such  a  glare  of  abject 
terror  that  it  might  well  have  inspired  pity  in  the  hardest 
heart. 

But  Will  was  not  given  to  pity.  The  boy's  terror 
meant  nothing  to  him.  All  he  remembered  was  his 
unutterable  dislike  of  the  boy,  and  his  satisfaction  at 
having  caught  the  chicken-killer  of  Barnriff.  And,  to 
judge  by  the  boy's  blood-stained  hands,  in  the  thick  of 
his  fell  work. 

"  So,  I've  caught  you,  my  lad,  have  I  ?  "  he  said,  with 
a  cold  grin  of  appreciation.  "  It's  you  who  spend  your 
time  killing  the  chickens?  Well,  you're  going  to  pay 
for  it,  you — you  wretched  deformity." 


82  The  One- Way  Trail 

The  boy  cowered  back.  His  curious  mind  was  filled 
with  hatred,  but  his  fear  was  all-mastering.  Will  sud- 
denly reached  forward  and  dragged  him  further  into  the 
feeble  rays  of  the  candle-light. 

"  Come  here,  you  young  demon  !  "  he  cried.  "  You're 
not  going  to  escape  punishment  because  of  your  sister. 
You  haven't  got  her  here  to  protect  you.  You've  got  a 
man  to  deal  with.  Do  you  understand,  eh  ?  A  man." 

"  A  devil,"  Elia  muttered,  his  eyes  gleaming. 

44  Well,  at  this  moment,  perhaps,  a  devil ! "  Will 
retorted,  giving  the  boy's  arm  a  cruel  twist.  "  How's 
that?"  he  inquired,  as  the  boy  gave  one  of  those  curious 
cries  of  pain  of  his,  which  had  so  much  likeness  to  an 
animal's  yelp. 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing  to  what  you're  going  to  get,"  his 
persecutor  went  on.  "  We  do  the  same  here  to  boys 
who  kill  chickens  as  we  do  to  those  who  kill  and  steal 
cattle.  We  hang  'em,  Elia,  we  hang  'em.  How  would 
you  like  to  be  hanged  ?  " 

Will  watched  the  working  features.  He  saw  and  ap- 
preciated the  terror  he  was  causing,  the  suffering.  But 
he  could  draw  no  further  retort. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  no  definite  idea  yet  as  to 
what  he  should  do  with  his  captive.  He  was  Eve's 
brother,  but  that  did  not  influence  him.  He  probably 
disliked  the  boy  all  the  more  for  it,  because  one  day  he 
would  be  his  brother,  and  he  knew  that  Elia  came  before 
all  else  in  the  world  in  Eve's  thoughts.  His  jealousy  and 
hatred  were  well  blended,  and,  in  a  man  of  his  mind,  this 
was  a  dangerous  combination. 

He  released  his  hold  on  his  captive  and  looked  at  his 
bleeding  arm.  The  boy's  teeth  had  left  an  ugly  wound, 


The  Chicken-Killing  83 

and  the  blood  was  flowing  freely.  He  turned  his  eyes 
again  to  Ella's  face  and  a  devil  lurked  in  them. 

"  I've  a  good  mind  to  thrash  you,  you  piece  of 
deformity  !  "  he  cried  angrily.  And  he  made  a  move 
as  though  to  fulfil  his  threat. 

Then  that  cruel  grin  gathered  round  his  lips  again. 

<4  That's  a  good  idea,"  he  said.  "  Thrash  you  for  my- 
self, and  hand  you  over  to  those  others,  after." 

But  his  words  had  not  the  effect  which  his  physical 
force  had.  Perhaps  the  boy,  with  that  peculiar  twist  he 
possessed,  was  reading  the  indecision,  the  uncertainty  in 
his  captor's  mind.  Anyway,  the  terror  in  his  eyes  was 
becoming  less,  and  a  defiant  light  was  taking  its  place. 
But  Will  could  see  none  of  this,  and  he  went  on. 

"  I'd  hate  to  be  handed  over  to  the  boys  for  hang- 
ing  " 

Elia  suddenly  shook  his  head. 

"  There's  no  hangin' !  "  he  cried,  "  and  you  know  it. 
You  send  me  to — the  others  an'  see  what  happens  to  you. 
I  tell  you,  sis  'ud  see  you  dead  before  she  married  you. 
Guess  you  best  let  me  go  right  quick,  an'  no  more  bull- 
dozing." 

The  boy  had  suddenly  tacked  to  windward  of  him,  and 
Will  was  confronted  with  an  ugly"  lee  shore."  The  trap 
he  had  fallen  into  was  difficult,  and  he  stood  thinking. 
The  dwarf  had  recovered  himself,  and  his  bland  look  of 
innocence  returned  to  his  eyes. 

44 1  killed  'em  nigh  all — your  chickens,"  he  said  earnestly. 
•'  I'll  kill  the  rest  later,  because  they're  yours.  I  can't  kill 
you  because  you  are  stronger  than  me,  but  I  hate  you. 
I'm  goin'  right  out  of  here  now,  an'  you  won't  stop 


84  The  One- Way  Trail 

But  the  boy  had  overreached  himself.  Will  was  not 
easy  when  at  bay. 

He  took  a  step  forward  and  seized  him  by  his  two 
arms. 

"  You  hate  me,  eh  ?  "  he  said  cruelly.  «  I  can't  hand 
you  over  to  the  boys,  eh  ?  "  He  wrenched  the  arms  with 
a  twist  at  each  question,  and,  at  each  twist,  the  boy  ut- 
tered that  weird  cry  that  was  scarcely  human.  "  Well,  if 
I  can't,"  Will  went  on  through  his  clenched  teeth, 
wrenching  his  arms  as  he  spoke,  "  it  cuts  both  ways  ; 
you'll  get  your  med'cine  here  instead,  and  you  daren't 
speak  of  it — see,  see,  see  !  " 

The  boy's  cries  were  louder  and  more  prolonged. 
Terror  had  again  taken  its  place  in  his  eyes.  Yet  he 
seemed  to  have  no  power  for  resistance.  He  was  held 
in  a  paralysis  of  unutterable  fear.  With  each  of  Will's 
three  final  words  the  lad's  arms  were  nearly  wrenched 
from  their  sockets,  and,  as  the  victim's  final  cry  broke 
louder  than  the  rest,  the  door  was  flung  open  and  the 
candle  set  flickering. 

"  Stop  that !  "  cried  a  voice,  directly  behind  Will,  and 
the  man  turned  to  find  the  burly  form  of  Peter  Blunt  fill- 
ing the  doorway. 

But  Will  was  beside  himself  with  rage  and  hatred. 

"  Eh  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Who  says  to  stop  ?  He's  the 
chicken-killer.  I  got  him  red-handed."  He  held  up  one 
of  the  boy's  blood-stained  hands. 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  is.  If  you  don't  loose  him 
instantly  I'll  throw  you  out  of  this  shack."  The  big  man's 
voice  was  calm,  but  his  eyes  were  blazing. 

Will  released  the  boy,  but  only  to  turn  fiercely  upon 
the  intruder. 


The  Chicken-Killing  85 

"  And  who  in  thunder  are  you  to  interfere  ?  "  he  cried 
savagely. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  Peter  walked  straight 
up  to  him.  For  a  second  he  stood  towering  over  him, 
eye  to  eye.  Then  he  turned  his  back,  and  thrust  out  one 
great  arm  horizontally  across  the  other's  body,  as  though 
to  warn  him  back  while  he  spoke  to  Elia.  There  was 
nothing  blustering  in  his  attitude,  nothing  even  forceful. 
There  was  a  simplicity,  a  directness  that  was  strangely 
compelling.  And  Will  found  himself  obeying  the  silent 
command  in  spite  of  his  fury. 

"  Get  out,  laddie,"  said  Peter  gently.  "  Get  out, 
quick." 

And  in  those  moments  while  Will  watched  his  prey 
hobbling  to  freedom,  he  remembered  Eve  and  what  it 
would  mean  if  the  story  of  his  doings  reached  her. 

As  the  boy  vanished  through  the  doorway  Peter  turned. 

"  Thanks,  Will,"  he  said,  in  his  amiable  way.  "  You'd 
far  best  let  him  go.  When  you  hurt  that  boy  you  hurt 
Eve— ter'ble." 

Swift  protest  leaped  to  Will's  lips. 

"  But  the  chickens.  He  killed  'em.  I  caught  him 
red-handed." 

"  Just  so,  Will,"  responded  the  big  man  easily.  "  He'll 
answer  for  it — somewhere.  There's  things  we've  been 
caught  doing  'red-handed'  by — some  one.  And  we'll 
answer  for  'em  sure — somewhere." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   "  BOYS  "    OF   THE   VILLAGE 

THE  saloon  was  well  filled,  and  it  was  evident  from  the 
atmosphere  pervading  the  place  that  something  unusually 
welcome  was  afoot. 

As  a  rule  evenings  spent  in  the  saloon  at  BarnrirT  were 
not  gatherings  one  would  readily  describe  as  being"  gay." 
At  least  it  would  require  a  strong  imagination  to  do  so. 
A  slight  modification  would  be  best.  The  BarnrifT  men 
were  rarely  lightsome,  and  when  they  disported  them- 
selves it  was  generally  with  a  sombre  sort  of  joy.  That 
was  their  attitude  just  now.  There  was  a  peculiar  earnest- 
ness about  them,  even  in  the  fact  of  living.  They  seemed 
to  be  actuated  by  a  deadly  thoroughness  which  had  a 
tendency  to  kill,  not  so  much  levity  as  lightness,  and 
leave  them  mourning. 

To-night  such  an  atmosphere  of  sombre  joy  was  pre- 
vailing. It  was  a  similar  attitude  to  that  which  they 
adopted  on  election  day,  Independence  Day,  at  a  funeral, 
or  a  wedding.  It  was  the  way  anything  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary always  affected  them. 

The  fact  of  the  matter  was  Doc  Crombie,  who  was 
doctor,  veterinary  surgeon,  horse  dealer,  and  a  sort  of  self- 
elected  mayor  of  the  place,  was  going  to  hold  a  meeting 
in  the  saloon.  He  was  going  to  make  a  formal  speech, 
and  the  speech  was  the  point. 

Now,  if  there  was  one  thing  Barnriff  bowed  the  knee 


The  "  Boys  "  of  the  Village  87 

to  it  was  the  man  who  could,  and  would,  make  a  speech. 
It  had  all  the  masses'  love  for  oratory,  and  was  as  easily 
swayed  by  it  as  a  crowd  of  ignorant  political  voters.  Be- 
sides, Doc  Crombie  was  a  tried  orator  in  Barnriff.  He 
had  addressed  a  meeting  once  before,  and,  speaking  on 
behalf  of  a  church  mission,  and  asking  for  support  of  the 
cause,  he  had  created  a  great  impression  by  his  stern  de- 
nunciation of  the  ungodly  life  in  Barnriff,  and  his  flowery 
laudation  of  those  who  allowed  themselves  to  respond  to 
the  call  of  "  religion." 

On  that  occasion  he  said  with  all  the  dignity  and  con- 
sequence of  his  position  at  the  moment  — 

"  It  ain't  your  dogone  dollars  we  want.  It's  your  souls. 
D'you  git  that?  An'  when  we've  sure  got  'em  wot'll  we 
do  with  'em,  you  ast?  Wai,  I  don't  guess  we're  doin'  a 
cannibal  line  o'  business.  Nor  ain't  we  goin'  to  stuff 'em 
an'  set  'em  up  as  objec's  o'  ridicool  to  the  ungodly  hogs 
wot  wallers  in  the  swill  o'  no  adulteratin'  son-of-a-moose 
of  a  dealer  in  liver  pizen.  No,  gents,  that  ain't  us.  We're 
goin'  to  save  'em.  An'  I  personal  guarantees  that  savin' 
racket  goes.  Did  I  hear  any  mangy  son-of-a-coyote  guess 
he  didn't  believe  no  such  guarantee  ?  No,  an'  I  guess  he 
best  not.  I'm  a  man  of  peace,  as  all  knows  in  this  yer 
city,  but  I'd  hate  to  try  an'  shut  out  a  blizzard  in  winter  by 
stuffin'  that  gopher's  perforated  carkis  under  the  door- 
jamb  when  I  was  thro'  with  it.  I  say  right  here  we're 
out  to  save  carkises — I  mean  souls.  An',  say,  fellers,  jest 
think.  Gettin'  your  souls  saved  for  a  few  measly  cents. 
Ain't  that  elegant?  No  argyment,  no  kickin'.  Them 
souls  is  jest  goin'  to  be  dipped,  an'  they'll  come  up  white 
an'  shinin'  out  of  the  waters  of  righteousness  a  sight 
cleaner  than  you  ever  got  your  faces  at  Christmas,  washin' 


88  The  One-Way  Trail 

in  Silas  Rocket's  hoss  trough,  even  when  his  hoss  soap 
was  plenty.  Think  of  it,  fellers,  and  I  speak  speshul  to 
you  whiskey  souses  wot  ain't  breathed  pure  air  sence  you 
was  let  loose  on  the  same  gent's  bowel  picklin'  sperrit. 
You'll  get  right  to  Meetin'  on  Sundays  with  your  boots 
greased  elegant,  an'  your  pants  darned  reg'lar  by  your 
wimmin-folk  wot's  proud  of  yer,  an'  don't  kick  when  you 
blow  into  a  natty  game  o'  '  draw.'  You'll  have  your  kids 
lookin'  up  at  your  fancy  iled  locks,  an'  your  bow-tie,  an' 
in  their  little  minds  they'll  wonder  an'  wonder  how  it 
come  your  mouths  ain't  drippin'  t'baccer  juice,  an'  how 
they  ain't  got  cow-hided  'fore  the  breakfast  they  mostly 
have  to  guess  at,  an'  how  it  come  you're  leadin'  them, 
'stead  o'  them  leadin'  you,  an'  how  their  little  bellies  is 
blown  out  with  grub  like  a  litter  o'  prize  hogs.  Think 
of  it,  fellers,  an'  pass  up  your  measly  cents.  It  ain't  the 
coin,  it's  the  sperrit  we  want,  an'  when  I  think  of  all  these 
yer  blessin's  I'm  personal  guarantee! n'  to  the  flower  o' 
Barnriff's  manhood  I  almost  feel  as  though  I  wus  goin'  to 
turn  on  the  hose  pipe  like  a  spanked  kid." 

He  talked  till  he  had  half  of  Barnriff's  "  flower  "  blub- 
bering, and  he  had  emptied  the  last  cent  out  of  their 
pockets,  and  the  mission  was  set  on  a  sound  financial 
basis.  But  as  to  his  guarantee — well,  the  doctor  was  well 
understood  by  his  fellow  citizens,  and  no  one  was  ever 
heard  to  question  its  fulfilment. 

It  was  wonderful  what  a  power  of  persuasion  he  had  in 
Barnriff.  But  then  he  was  an  awe-inspiring  figure,  with 
his  large  luminous  eyes  and  eagle  cast  of  feature.  And, 
too,  words  flowed  from  his  lips  like  words  from  the  pen 
of  a  yellow  journal  reporter,  and  his  phraseology  was  al- 
most as  picturesque. 


The  "  Boys  "  of  the  Village  89 

The  boys  were  gathered  waiting  for  him.  There  was 
anticipatory  pleasure  in  their  hang-dog  faces.  One  of 
them  almost  laughed  at  a  light  sally  from  the  cheery  Gayf 
but  luckily  it  was  nipped  in  time  by  the  interposition  of 
the  mean-minded  Smallbones. 

"  I  sez  it  right  here,  boys,"  the  latter  observed,  leaning 
with  his  back  against  the  bar,  and  speaking  with  the  air 
of  having  just  arrived  at  a  grave  decision.  "  Old  Sally 
Morby  hadn't  no  right  to  burry  her  man  in  oak.  Now  I 
ast  you,  Gay,  as  man  to  man,  if  you'd  know'd  we  was 
goin'  to  be  ast  to  ante  up  fer  her  grub  stake,  wot  could 
you  ha'  done  him  handsome  an'  moderate  fer?" 

Gay  squared  his  fat  shoulders.  For  the  moment  he  was 
important.  Moments  of  importance  are  always  precious, 
even  in  places  like  Barnriff. 

"  Wai,  I  can't  rightly  give  it  you  down  to  cents  without 
considerin'  Restless  some,"  he  replied  unctuously.  "  But 
we  did  Toby  Randall  slap-up  in  ash  fer  fifty  odd  dollars. 
Then  ther'  was  Sadie  O'Brien.  We  did  her  elegant  in 
soft  pine  for  twenty-eight  odd.  It  'ud  sure  have  been 
twenty-five  on'y  fer  her  weight.  Y'see  the  planks  under 
her  had  to  be  two  inch  or  she'd  ha'  fell  through." 

He  produced  his  note-book  and  rapidly  glanced  over 
the  greasy  pages. 

"  Y'see,"  he  observed,  pausing  at  the  entry  he  had  been 
looking  for,  "  Sally  paid  us  a  hundred  an'  forty-seven 
dollars  an'  seventy-five  cents.  I  'lows  that's  handsome  fer 
buryin'  a  hop-headed  skite  like  Charlie  Morby  was.  But 
that  wus  her  order,  an'  bein'  a  business  man,  an'  takin' 
pride  in  my  work,  I  sez  to  Restless,  I  sez, '  It's  oak,  boyt 
oak  with  silver  plate  trimmin's,  an'  a  real  elegant  inscrip- 
tion to  Charlie  on  it,  tellin*  folks  o'  virtues  he  didn't  never 


90  The  One- Way  Trail 

handle  when  he  was  livinY  He  sure  didn't  deserve 
nothin'  better  than  an  apple  bar'l,  leavin'  the  head  open 
so  he  had  a  chance  to  dodge  the  devil  when  he  come 
along.  An'  I  guess,  knowin'  Charlie,  he'd  'a'  given  him 
an  elegant  run  fer  it." 

"  That's  it,"  exclaimed  Smallbones,  peevishly.  "  That's 
it.  She  goes  an'  blows  in  her  wad  on  a  buzzock  what  ought 
to  bin  drownded  in  yaller  mud,  an'  we've  got  to  ante  her 
grub  stake.  Psha  !  I  ain't  givin'  a  cent." 

Lean  Wilkes,  the  baker,  was  watching  the  trust  schemer 
with  baleful  eye,  and  now  his  slow  tongue  evolved  a  pretty 
retort. 

"  No  one  sed  you  was — nor  thought  it  likely." 

"  The  duff  puncher  wakin'  up,"  sneered  Smallbones, 
angrily. 

"  Guess  it's  your  voice  hurtin'  my  ear  drums,"  replied 
Jake,  ponderously. 

At  that  moment  Abe  Horsley  joined  the  group.  He 
called  for  drinks  before  adding  his  bit  to  the  talk.  He 
had  an  axe  to  grind  and  wanted  a  sympathetic  audience. 
While  Rocket,  observing  his  customers  with  shrewd  un- 
friendly eyes,  set  out  the  glasses  and  the  accompanying 
bottles — he  never  needed  to  inquire  what  these  men 
would  take  ;  he  knew  the  tipple  of  every  soul  in  Barnriff 
by  heart — Abe  opened  out.  He  was  unctuous  and  care- 
ful of  his  diction.  He  was  Barnriff 's  lay-preacher,  and 
felt  that  this  attitude  was  "  up  to  him." 

"  I  do  sure  agree  with  the  generality  of  opinion  in  this 
yer  city,"  he  said  largely.  "  I  consider  that  the  largeness 
of  heart  for  which  our  brothers  in  this  important  town — 
it  has  a  great  future,  gentlemen,  believe  me ;  I  mention 
this  in  parenthesis — are  held  in  excellent  esteem " 


The  "  Boys  "  of  the  Village  91 

He  broke  off  to  nod  to  Jim  Thorpe  who  entered  the 
saloon  at  that  moment — "  should  be — er  fostered.  I 
think,  brethren — pardon  me,  •  gentlemen'" — that  we 
should  give,  and  give  liberally  to  Sally  Morby,  but — but 
I  do  not  see  why  Doc  Crombie  should  make  the  occasion 
the  opportunity  for  a  speech.  Any  of  us  could  do  it 
quite  as  well.  Perhaps,  who  knows,  some  of  us  even 
better " 

"  Smallbones,"  murmured  the  dissatisfied  Wilkes,  drink- 
ing his  gin  at  a  gulp. 

"  Yes,  even  Smallbones,"  shrugged  Abe,  sipping  his 
whiskey. 

Angel  Gay  bolted  his  whiskey  and  laid  a  gentle  hand 
firmly  on  Horsley's  shoulder. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  not  Smallbones ;  not  even  Doc 
Crombie,  both  deadgut  fellers  sure.  But  you  are  the 
man,  Abe.  For  elegance  o'  langwidge,  an'  flow — mark 
you — you — you  are  a  born  speaker,  sure.  Say,  I  believe 
that  rye  of  Rocket's  was  in  a  gin  bottle.  It  tasted  like — 
like " 

"  Have  another  ?  "  suggested  Abe,  cordially. 

"  I  won't  say  '  no,'  "  Gay  promptly  acquiesced. 

But  Rocket  was  serving  drink  to  Jim  Thorpe  at  one 
of  the  little  poker  tables  on  the  far  side  of  the  room,  and 
the  butcher  had  to  wait. 

"  How  much  are  you  givin'  ? "  Smallbones  inquired 
cautiously  of  Gay. 

He  was  still  worrying  over  the  forthcoming  demand 
on  his  charity.  Gay  promptly  puffed  himself  up. 

"  Wai,"  he  said,  with  some  dignity.  "  Y'see  she's  got 
six  kiddies,  each  smaller  nor  the  other.  They  mustn't 
starve  for  sure.  Guess  I'm  givin'  twenty-fi'  dollars." 


92  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Wot  ?  "  almost  shrieked  the  disgusted  Smallbones. 

44  Yes,"  said  the  butcher-undertaker  coldly.  "  An'  / 
ain't  no  trust  magnate." 

"  That's  right  up  to  you,  Smallbones,"  remarked  Abe, 
passing  his  friend  Gay  his  drink.  "  You'll  natcherly  give 
fifty." 

But  Abe's  ponderous  levity  was  too  much  for  Small- 
bones. 

"  An'  if  I  did  it  wouldn't  be  in  answer  to  the  hog- 
wash  preachin'  you  ladle  out.  Anyways  I'll  give  as  it 
pleases  me." 

"  Then  I  guess  them  kiddies'll  starve,  sure,"  remarked 
Wilkes  heavily. 

How  much  further  the  ruffled  tempers  of  these  men 
might  have  been  tried  it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  at  that 
moment  a  diversion  was  created  by  the  advent  of  the 
redoubtable  doctor.  And  it  was  easy  to  see  at  a  glance 
how  it  was  this  man  was  able  to  sway  the  Barnriff  crowd. 
He  was  an  aggressive  specimen  of  unyielding  force,  lean, 
but  powerful  of  frame,  with  the  light  of  overwhelming 
determination  in  a  pair  of  swift,  bright  eyes. 

He  glanced  round  the  vast  dingy  bar-room.  There 
were  two  tables  of  poker  going  in  opposite  corners  of  the 
room,  and  a  joyous  collection  of  variegated  uncleanness 
"  bucking  "  a  bank  in  another  corner.  Then  there  was 
the  flower  of  BarnrifT  propping  up  the  bar  like  a  row 
of  daisies  in  a  window  box — only  they  lacked  the  purity 
of  that  simple  flower.  He  stepped  at  once  to  the  centre 
of  the  room. 

"  Boys,"  he  said  in  a  hoarse,  rasping  voice,  "  I'm  in  a 
hurry.  Guess  natur'  don't  wait  fer  nuthin*  when  she  gits 
busy  on  matters  wot  interest  her;  an'  seein'  Barnriff 


The  "  Boys  "  of  the  Village  93 

needs  all  the  population  that's  comin'  to  it  with  so 
energetic  a  funeral  maker  as  our  friend,  Angel  Gay, 
around,  I'll  git  goin'.  I'm  right  here  fer  dollars  fer  pore 
Sally  Morby.  She's  broke,  dead  broke,  an'  she's  got  six 
kiddies,  all  with  their  pore  little  bellies  flappin'  in  the 
wind  for  want  of  a  squar'  feed.  Say,  I  ain't  hyar  to  git 
gassin',  I  ain't  hyar  to  make  flowery  talk  fer  the  sake  o' 
them  pore  kiddies.  I'm  here  to  git  dollars,  an'  I'm  goin' 
to  git  'em.  Cents  won't  do.  Come  on.  Ther's  six  pore 
kiddles,  six  pore  lone  little  kiddies  with  their  faces  gapin' 
fer  food  like  a  nest  o'  unfledged  chicks  in  the  early  frosts  o' 
spring.  Now  every  mother's  son  o'  you « ante'  right  here. 
Natur'  busy  or  no  natur'  busy,  I  don't  quit  till  you've 
dipped  into  your  wads.  Now  you,  Smallbones,"  he 
cried,  fixing  the  little  man  with  his  desperate  eyes. 
"  How  much  ?  " 

Every  eye  was  on  the  trust  manipulator.  He  hated 
it.  He  hated  them  all,  but  Doc  Crombie  most  of  all. 
But  the  tall,  lean  man  was  impatient.  He  knew  it  was  a 
race  between  him  and  a  baby  in  a  distant  quarter  of  the 
village. 

"  How  much  ?  "  he  threatened  the  hesitating  man. 

"  A  dollar,"  Smallbones  muttered  in  the  midst  of  pro- 
found silence.  Even  the  chips  of  the  poker  players  had 
ceased  to  rattle. 

A  faint  light  of  amusement  crept  into  every  eye,  every 
eye  except  the  doctor's. 

Suddenly  his  lean  figure  pounced  forward  and  stood 
before  the  beflustered  speaker. 

"  I  said  '  how  much  ?  '  "  he  rasped,  "  'cause  Barnriff 
knows  its  manners.  Wai,  the  social  etiquette  o'  Barnriff 
is  satisfied,  so  I  ken  talk  straight.  Say,  you  an'  me  have 


94  The  One- Way  Trail 

piled  a  tidy  heap  in  this  yer  city,  so  I  guess  you're  goin' 
to  match  my  hundred  dollars  right  here.  An'  I  tei 
you  squar',  an*  I'm  a  man  o'  my  word,  if  you  don't 
you'll  get  a  bath  in  Rocket's  hoss-trough  which'll  do  you 
till  the  next  Presidential  Election — if  it  pizens  every  hoss 
for  miles  around  Barnriff.  Guess  I'll  take  that  hundred 
dollars." 

And  he  did.  The  furious  Smallbones  "  weighed  out  " 
amid  a  circle  of  smiles,  which  suddenly  seemed  to  light 
up  the  entire  bar-room.  Nor  had  he  a  single  spoken 
word  of  protest.  But  he  yielded  himself  up  to  the  de- 
mands of  the  masterful  doctor  only  to  save  himself  the 
ducking  he  was  certain  awaited  his  refusal. 

The  rest  was  play  to  Doc  Crombie.  As  he  had 
pointed  out,  BarnrifT's  social  demands  had  been  satisfied 
by  his  giving  Smallbones  the  option  of  stating  the 
amount  of  his  contribution,  and,  as  the  result  had  not 
come  up  to  requirements,  he  dispensed  with  further 
delicacy,  and  assessed  each  man  present  with  the  cool 
arbitrariness  of  a  Socialist  Chancellor.  But  in  this  case 
the  process  was  not  without  justification.  He  knew  just 
how  much  each  man  could  afford,  and  he  took  not  one 
cent  more — -or  less. 

This  fact  was  exampled  when  he  came  to  Jim's  table. 
Jim  looked  up  from  his  cards.  He  understood  Crombie. 

"  Well,  Doc,"  he  said,  "  how  much  ?  " 

Crombie  eyed  him  with  shrewd  amusement. 

"  Wai,  Jim,  I'll  take  on'y  ten  dollars  from  you,  seein's 
your  contrac's  out  for  buildin',  an1  you  need  ev'rything 
that's  comin'  your  way." 

Jim  laughed.  It  was  a  boisterous  laugh  that  had  little 
mirth  in  it. 


The  "  Boys  "  ol  the  Village  95 

"  Guess  I'll  treble  that,"  he  said.  "  I've  cut  the  con- 
tract." 

But  the  laugh  had  irritated  the  doctor. 

•«  I'll  take  ten  from  you,  he  said,  with  an  incisive 
clipping  of  his  teeth.  "  Not  a  cent  more,  nor  a  cent  less." 

And  Jim  yielded  to  him  promptly.  The  doctor  passed 
on.  Neither  he  nor  those  around  him  had  understood 
the  bitter  humor  underlying  Jim's  laugh.  Only,  per- 
haps, Peter  Blunt,  who  had  entered  the  room  with  Will 
Henderson  a  moment  or  two  before,  and  whose  sympa- 
thetic ears  had  caught  the  sound,  could  possibly  have  in- 
terpreted it  aright. 

The  "  whip  round  "  was  completed,  and  the  doctor  read 
out  the  total.  Five  hundred  and  forty  dollars  was  to  be 
handed  over  to  the  widow,  to  ease  the  burden  Fate  had 
inflicted  upon  her.  And  it  said  something  for  the  big 
hearts  of  this  prairie  folk,  that,  in  the  large  majority  at 
least,  the  memory  of  their  charity  left  them  with  the  de- 
parture of  the  doctor  to  complete  his  race  with  Nature  at 
the  far  extremity  of  the  village. 

The  saloon  settled  down  to  its  evening's  entertainment 
as  though  nothing  unusual  had  happened.  The  majority 
gathered  into  various  games  of  "  draw,"  for  which  the 
great  room  was  half  filled  with  small  tables.  The  few 
that  resisted  the  seductive  charms  of  the  national  card 
game  continued  to  support  the  bar.  Of  these,  Small- 
bones  only  remained  long  enough  to  air  his  spleen  at  the 
doctor's  expense.  But  even  he  found  it  incumbent  upon 
him  to  modify  his  tone.  For  one  thing  he  received  an 
unmerciful  baiting  from  his  companions,  and  besides,  he 
knew,  if  he  allowed  his  tongue  to  riot  too  far,  how  easy  it 
would  be  for  his  denunciation  to  reach  the  strenuous 


96  The  One- Way  Trail 

doctor's  ears.  Gay  and  Wilkes  left  shortly  after  the  trust 
magnate,  and  soon  Abe  Horsley  was  forced  to  seek  a  fresh 
gossip.  He  found  one  in  Will  Henderson,  as  soon  as 
Peter  Blunt  had  moved  away  to  watch  the  games  at  the 
tables.  Will's  mood  at  the  moment  suited  the  lay- 
preacher.  He  wanted  to  drink,  and  Abe  was  possessed 
of  a  chronic  thirst. 

So,  with  the  exception  of  these  two,  Silas  Rocket,  ever 
rapacious  for  custom,  was  left  free  to  see  that  the  games 
did  not  detract  from  the  men's  drinking  powers.  He  had 
an  eye  like  a  hawk  for  possible  custom.  Wherever  there 
was  a  big  pot  just  won  his  rasping  voice  was  always  at 
the  elbow  of  the  winner,  with  his  monotonous  "  Any 
drinks,  gents  ? "  If  a  table  was  slow  to  require  his 
services  he  never  left  it  alone.  He  drove  the  men  at  it  to 
drink  in  self-defense.  It  was  a  skilful  display — though 
not  as  uncommon  as  one  might  think,  even  in  the  best 
restaurants  in  a  big  metropolis. 

So  the  night  wore  on.  Every  man  drank.  They 
drank  when  they  won.  They  drank  when  they  lost.  In 
the  former  case  it  was  out  of  the  buoyancy  of  their  spirits, 
in  the  latter  because  they  wished  to  elevate  them.  What- 
ever excuse  they  required  they  found,  and  when  difficulty 
in  that  direction  arose,  there  was  always  Silas  Rocket  on 
hand  to  coax  them. 

Jim,  huddled  away  in  a  corner  behind  the  great  stove 
used  for  heating  the  place  in  winter,  was  busy  with  his 
game.  He  had  shown  no  recognition  of  Will  Hender- 
son's coming.  He  had  probably  seen  him,  because, 
though  hidden  from  it  himself,  he  had  a  full  view  of  the 
bar,  and  any  time  he  looked  up,  his  eyes  must  have  en- 
countered the  two  figures  now  left  alone  beside  it. 


The  "  Boys  "  of  the  Village  97 

He  was  drinking,  and  drinking  hard.  He  was  also 
losing.  The  cards  were  running  consistently  against  him. 
But,  then,  he  was  always  an  unlucky  player.  He  rarely 
protested  against  it,  for  in  reality  he  had  little  interest  in 
the  play,  and  to-night  less  than  usual.  He  played  be- 
cause it  saved  him  thinking  or  talking,  and  he  wanted  to 
sit  there  and  drink  until  Silas  turned  them  out.  Then  he 
intended  returning  to  the  ranch.  He  meant  to  have  one 
night's  forgetfulness,  at  least,  even  if  he  had  to  stupefy  his 
senses  in  bad  whiskey. 

Abe  and  Will  had  reached  the  confidential  stage. 
They  were  full  of  friendliness  for  each  other,  and  ready  to 
fall  on  each  other's  necks.  For  some  time  Will  had  de- 
sired an  opportunity  to  open  his  heart  to  this  man.  He 
would  have  opened  it  to  anybody.  His  Celtic  tempera- 
ment was  a  fire  of  enthusiasm.  He  felt  that  all  the  world 
was  his,  and  he  wanted  to  open  his  arms  and  embrace  it. 
But  so  far  Abe  had  given  him  little  opportunity.  His 
own  voice  pleased  the  lay-preacher,  and  he  had  orated  on 
every  subject  from  politics  to  street-paving,  giving  his 
companion  little  chance  for  anything  but  monosyllabic 
comments.  But  finally  Will's  chance  came.  Abe  had 
abruptly  questioned  the  propriety  of  permitting  marriage 
in  their  village,  where  the  burden  of  keeping  the  offspring 
of  the  union  was  likely  to  fall  upon  the  public  shoulders. 
Will  plunged  into  the  midst  of  the  man's  oratory,  and 
would  not  be  denied. 

"  Marriage,"  he  said, "  is  not  for  regulation  by  law.  No 
one  has  the  right,"  he  declared,  with  an  emphatic  thump 
on  the  bar,  "  to  dictate  to  the  individual  on  the  subject." 
He  went  on  at  high  pressure  in  a  heated  crescendo  for 
some  moments,  denouncing  any  interference  by  public 


98  The  One- Way  Trail 

bodies.  Then  of  a  sudden  he  laid  a  hand  on  Abe's 
shoulder  and  abruptly  dropped  his  voice  to  a  confidential 
whisper.  His  eyes  were  smiling  and  shining  with  the 
feelings  which  stirred  him.  Everything  was  forgotten 
except  the  fact  of  his  engagement  to  Eve.  Jim  was 
obscured  from  his  mental  vision  by  the  uplifting  spirit 
vapors  which  supported  his  thoughts.  Eve,  and  Eve 
alone,  was  in  his  mind,  that — and  the  fact  that  she  was  to 
be — his. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Abe,"  he  said,  a  little  thickly.  "  All 
this  talk  of  yours  don't  hold  water — no,  nor  spirit  either," 
he  laughed.  "  Say,  I'm  goin'  to  get  married,  and  so  I 
know." 

Quite  how  he  knew  didn't  seem  clear ;  but  he  paused 
for  the  impression.  Abe  whistled  interestedly  and  edged 
nearer,  turning  his  ear  so  as  not  to  miss  what  the  youngster 
had  to  say. 

"  Who  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  A-ah  ! "  Will  prolonged  the  exclamation  knowingly, 
and  waited  for  the  man  to  guess. 

"  You  wus  allus  sweet  on  Eve  Marsham — you  and  Jim 
Thorpe."  \ 

Will  suddenly  ceased  to  smile.  He  drank  his  whiskey 
at  a  gulp  and  banged  his  glass  on  the  counter. 

•<  By  G ! "  he  exclaimed  harshly,  while  Abe 

wondered  at  his  changed  tone.  "  Yes,  it's  Eve — Eve 
Marsham  ;  and  I'm  going  to  marry  her — not  Jim.  D'you 

git  that  ?  By  heaven  ! — yes.  Here,  Rocket !  "  He 

lurched  round  on  the  bar.  "  Here,  you  old  Sky-Rocket, 
get  drinks,  quick !  For  everybody !  I'll  pay !  See, 
here's  the  wad,"  and  he  slammed  a  thick  roll  of  bills  on 
the  counter.  "  I've  got  money,  sure,  and  I'm — hie—- 


The  "  Boys  "  of  the  Village  99 

goin'  to  burn  it.  Boys,"  he  cried,  swinging  about  and 
facing  the  tables,  supporting  himself  against  the  bar, 
41  you'll  drink  with  me.  Si — Silas  here'll  take  your 
orders,  an'  serve  you.  You,  too,  Abe,  ole  pal." 

Jitn  looked  up  from  his  cards  the  moment  Will  ad« 
dressed  the  room,  and  now  he  watched  him  swaying 
against  the  bar.  The  light  in  his  dark  eyes  was  peculiar. 
He  seemed  to  be  speculating,  and  his  thoughts  were  un- 
easy. Will  yawned  drunkenly.  Peter  Blunt,  from  across 
the  room,  was  watching  Jim,  and  moved  abruptly  clear 
of  the  tables,  but  not  ostentatiously  so. 

Will's  eyes  watched  Silas  passing  round  the  drinks. 
He  was  smiling  in  the  futile  manner  of  a  drunken  man, 
and  his  fingers  were  clutching  nervously  at  the  moulded 
edge  of  the  bar.  Rocket  came  back  and  handed  him  and 
Abe  their  whiskey.  The  former  promptly  clutched  his 
glass  and  raised  it  aloft,  spilling  the  neat  spirit  as  he  did 
so.  Then,  with  drunken  solemnity,  he  called  for  order. 

"  Boys,"  he  cried,  "  you'll — you'll  drink  a  to — toast. 
Sure  you  will.  Every  one  of  you'll  drink  it.  My  fu — 
sher  wife,  Eve — Eve  Marsham.  Jim  Th — Thorpe 
thought  he'd  best — me,  but " 

A  table  was  suddenly  sent  flying  in  the  crowd.  A 
man's  figure  leaped  out  from  behind  the  stove  and  rushed 
up  to  the  speaker.  It  was  Jim  Thorpe.  His  eyes  were 
blazing,  and  a  demon  of  fury  glared  out  upon  the  drunken 
man. 

"  Another  word,  and  I'll  shoot  you  like  a  dog  !  You 
liar  !  You  thieving !  " 

But  his  sentence  was  never  completed.  Peter  Blunt 
stood  between  them,  one  of  his  great  hands  gripping  Jim's 
arm  like  a  vice. 


loo  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Shut  up  !  "  he  cried,  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  You'll 
have  the  whole  story  all  over  the  village." 

But  the  mischief  was  done.  Everybody  present  was 
on  their  feet  agog  with  excitement,  and  came  gathering 
round  to  see  the  only  possible  finish  to  the  scene,  as  they 
understood  it.  But,  quick  as  lightning,  Peter  took  in  the 
situation.  Flinging  Jim  aside  as  though  he  were  a  baby, 
he  hugged  the  drunken  Will  Henderson  in  his  two  great 
arms,  and  carried  him  bodily  out  of  the  saloon. 

The  men  looked  after  him  wondering.  Then  some 
one  laughed.  It  was  an  odd,  dissatisfied  laugh,  but  it  had 
the  effect  of  relieving  the  tension.  And  one  by  one  they 
turned  back  to  Jim,  who  was  standing  moodily  leaning  on 
the  bar;  his  right  hand  was  still  resting  on  the  gun  on 
his  hip. 

There  was  a  moment  of  suspense.  Then  Jim's  hand 
left  the  gun,  and  he  straightened  himself  up.  He  tried  to 
smile,  but  the  attempt  was  a  failure. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  upsetting  your  game,  boys,"  he  said 
stupidly. 

Then  Rocket  came  effectively  to  the  rescue. 

"  Gents,"  he  cried,  "  you'll  all  honor  me  by  drinkin' 
with  the  house." 


CHAPTER  IX 
A  WOMAN'S  CARE 

"  HE'S  right  now,  Eve,  dear — right  as  right.  He'll  sleep 
till  morning,  and  then  he'll  wake  up,  an' — an'  forget  about 
being  ill." 

It  was  not  so  much  the  words  as  the  tone  that  brought 
comfort  to  Eve.  She  was  leaning  over  her  brother's  bed 
watching  the  beautiful  face,  so  waxen  now,  and  listening  to 
his  heavy  breathing,  which  was  steadily  moderating  to  a 
normal  ease.  The  boy  was  sleeping  the  result  of  a  dose 
administered  to  him  by  Doc  Crombie  who  had  been 
urgently  summoned  immediately  after  winning  his  race 
with  Nature  in  another  part  of  the  village.  Elia  had  been 
prostrated  with  a  nervous  attack  which  ended  in  a  terrible 
fit,  and  Eve,  all  unaware  of  what  had  gone  before  between 
her  brother  and  Will,  had  been  hard  put  to  it,  in  her  grief 
and  anxiety. 

When  the  boy  first  showed  signs  of  illness  she  sent 
for  Mrs.  Gay  to  find  the  doctor,  and  the  bright,  busy 
little  woman  was  still  with  her.  Annie  Gay  was  quite 
the  antithesis  of  her  husband.  She  was  practical,  ener- 
getic and,  above  all  things,  bright.  She  was  quite  young 
and  pretty,  and  Eve  and  she  were  considerable  friends. 
She  answered  the  girl's  summons  without  a  moment's  de- 
lay, and,  to  her  utmost  distress,  when  she  arrived,  she 
found  Elia  in  a  fierce  paroxysm  of  convulsions. 

«  You  think  so,  Annie  ?  "  Eve's  eyes  lifted  hungrily  to 


1O2  The  One- Way  Trail 

her  friend's  face.  They  were  full  of  almost  painful  yearn- 
ihg.  This  b.oy's  welfare  meant  more  to  her  than  anyone 
knew. 

Annie  took  her  arm,  and  gently  drew  her  from  the 
bedside,  nodding  her  pretty  head  sagely. 

"  Sure."  Then  she  added  with  a  great  assumption  of 
knowledge,  "  You  see  those  weakly  creatures  like  poor 
Elia  have  got  a  lot  o'  life  in  them.  You  can't  kill  'em. 
Angel  allus  says  that,  an'  he's  sure  to  know.  Elia's  body 
ain't  worth  two  cents  as  you  might  say,  but  he's  got — 
what's  the  word — vi — vi " 

"  Vitality,"  suggested  Eve. 

"  Yes,  sure.  That's  it.  Now  he'll  just  sleep  and  sleep. 
And  then  he'll  be  bully  when  he  wakes.  So  come  you 
and  sit  down  while  I  make  you  a  drop  of  hot  coffee. 
Pore  girl,  you're  wore  out.  There's  no  end  to  the 
troubles  o'  this  world  for  sure,"  she  added  cheerfully,  as 
she  hustled  off  to  the  kitchen  to  get  the  promised  coffee. 

Eve  sat  down  in  her  workroom.  She  was  comforted 
in  spite  of  herself.  Annie  Gay's  manner  was  of  an  order 
that  few  could  resist ;  it  was  illogical,  and,  perhaps,  foolishly 
optimistic,  yet  it  had  that  blessed  quality  of  carrying  con- 
viction to  all  who  were  fortunate  enough  to  lean  on  her 
warm,  strong  heart.  And  on  Eve  she  practiced  her  best 
efforts. 

But  Eve's  anxiety  only  lay  dormant  for  the  time.  It 
was  still  there  gnawing  at  her  heart.  She  knew  the  dan- 
ger of  the  fits  Elia  was  subject  to  and  a  brooding  thought 
clung  to  her  that  one  day  one  of  these  would  prove  fatal. 
The  least  emotion,  the  least  temper,  fear,  excitement, 
brought  them  on.  This  one — it  was  the  worst  she  had 
known.  Supposing  he  had  died — she  shuddered.  Like 


A  Woman's  Care  103 

a  saving  angel  Annie  reentered  with  the  coffee  in  time 
to  interrupt  her  thoughts. 

"  Now,  dear,  you  drink  this  at  once,"  she  said.  Then 
she  went  on,  in  response  to  a  mute  inquiry,  "  Oh,  yes, 
there's  plenty  here  for  me.  And  when  I  come  back  I'm 
going  to  make  some  more,  and  cook  a  nice  light  supper, 
while  you  watch  the  boy,  and  we  can  sit  here  together 
with  his  door  open  until  morning," 

"  But  you're  not  going  to  stop,  Annie,"  Eve  protested. 
"  I  can't  have  that.  You  must  get  your  sleep.  It's  very 
kind  of  you " 

"  Now  look  right  here,  Eve,"  the  busy  woman  said 
decidedly,  "  you've  got  nothing  to  say  about  it,  please. 
Do  you  think  I  could  sleep  in  my  bed  with  you  fretting 
and  worrying  your  poor,  simple  heart  out  ?  What  if  he 
woke  up  in  the  night  an' — an'  had  another  ?  Who's  to 
go  and  fetch  Doc  ?  Now  wot  I  says  is  duty's  duty,  and 
Angel  Gay  can  just  snore  his  head  off  by  himself  for  once, 
and  I'm  not  sure  but  what  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  shut  of 
the  noise." 

The  genuine  sympathy  and  kindliness  were  quite  touch- 
ing, and  Eve  responded  to  it  as  only  a  woman  can. 

"Annie,"  she  said,  with  a  wistful  smile,  "you  are  the 
kindest,  dearest  thing " 

"  Now  don't  you  call  me  a  '  thing,'  Eve  Marsham,"  the 
other  broke  in  with  a  laugh,  "  or  we'll  quarrel.  I'm  just 
a  plain  woman  with  sense  enough  to  say  nothing  when 
Gay  gets  home  with  more  whiskey  aboard  than  is  good 
for  his  vitals.  And  don't  you  think  I'm  not  putting  a 
good  value  on  myself  when  I  say  that.  Not  that  Gay's 
given  to  sousing  a  heap.  No,  he's  a  good  feller,  sure,  an' 
I  wouldn't  swap  him  for — for  your  Will — on'y  when  he 


104  The  One- Way  Trail 

snores.  So  you  see  it's  a  kindness  to  me  letting  me  stop 
to-night." 

"  You're  a  dear,"  Eve  cried  warmly, — "  and  I  won't  say 
•  thing.'  Where  are  you  going  now  ?  " 

44  Why,  I'm  going  to  set  Angel's  cheese  an'  pickles,  and 
put  his  coffee  on  the  stove.  If  he's  to  home  when  I  get 
around,  maybe  I'll  sit  with  him  ten  minutes  or  so,  an' 
then  I'll  come  right  along  back." 

She  had  reached  the  door,  which  stood  open,  and  now 
she  paused,  looking  back. 

44  When  are  you  gettin'  married,  Eve  ?"  she  demanded 
abruptly. 

14  Two  months  to-day,"  the  other  replied.  She  was 
surprised  out  of  herself,  and  for  a  moment  a  warm  glow 
swept  over  her  as  she  realized  that  there  was  something 
still  in  the  world  which  made  for  other  than  unhappiness. 

44  Two  months,"  said  Annie,  thoughtfully.  44  Two 
months,  eh  ?  "  Then  she  suddenly  became  mysterious 
and  smiled  into  the  other's  face.  <4  That'll  be  nice  time 
for  Gay  to  think  about  something  that  ain't — a  coffin." 

She  hurried  out  on  her  mission  of  duty  and  affection. 
Gay  was  her  all,  but  she  had  room  in  her  heart  for  a  good 
deal  more  than  the  worthy  butcher-undertaker's  great,  fat 
image.  She  had  no  children  of  her  own  yet,  but,  as  she 
often  said,  in  her  cheery,  optimistic  way, "  time  enough." 

It  was  her  attitude  toward  all  things,  and  it  carried  her 
through  life  a  heaven-sent  blessing  to  all  those  who  could 
number  her  amongst  their  friends.  To  Eve  she  had  cer- 
tainly been  all  this  and  more,  for  when  a  woman,  alone 
in  the  world,  is  set  the  appalling  task  of  facing  the  struggle 
for  existence  which  is  called  Life,  without  the  necessary 
moral  and  physical  equipment  for  such  a  battle,  the  sup- 


A  Woman's  Care  105 

port  of  a  strong  heart  generously  given  surely  becomes 
the  very  acme  of  all  charity. 

After  drinking  her  coffee,  Eve  went  to  the  open  door 
and  stood  looking  out  upon  the  village.  It  was  a  warm 
summer  night,  and  the  scent  of  the  prairie  was  strong 
upon  the  air.  As  yet  Barnriff  was  neither  large  enough, 
nor  shut  in  enough  by  its  own  buildings  to  hold  to  itself 
that  stale,  stifling  atmosphere  which  cities  obtain.  The 
air  was  the  pure  breath  which  swept  over  the  vast  green 
rollers  of  the  grass  world  in  the  midst  of  which  it  stood. 

The  velvet  heavens,  clad  in  their  perfect  tinsel  of  a 
glorious  night,  spread  a  softness  over  the  world  upon 
which  she  gazed.  An  odd  light  or  two  twinkled  from  a 
tiny  window  here  and  there ;  and,  then,  like  a  vulgar 
centerpiece,  the  lights  of  the  saloon  stared  out  harshly. 
There  was  no  moon,  but  the  mellow  sheen  of  the  stars 
hid  the  roughness  from  the  mind,  and  conveyed  an  added 
peace. 

The  girl  breathed  a  deep  sigh.  It  was  an  expression 
of  relief,  of  something  almost  like  content.  And  it  told 
of  what  Annie  Gay's  coming  had  meant  to  her.  As 
though  suddenly  released  from  an  insufferable  burden  her 
heart  cheered,  and  hope  told  her  that  her  brother  would 
recover;  and,  in  her  relief,  she  gazed  up  at  the  starlit  sky 
and  thanked  the  great  God  who  controlled  those  billions 
of  sparkling  worlds. 

With  each  passing  moment  her  mood  lightened,  and 
her  thoughts  inevitably  turned  upon  those  happier  things 
which  had  been  nearly  obscured.  She  was  thinking  of 
Will,  and  wondering  what  he  was  doing.  Was  he  in  bed  ? 
Was  he  sleeping  and  dreaming  of  her?  Or  was  he 
awake  and  thinking  of  their  love,  planning  for  their  joint 


lo6  The  One- Way  Trail 

future  ?  Her  eyes  drifted  in  the  direction  of  his  old  hut 
where  she  knew  he  was  to  pass  the  night.  It  was  in  dark- 
ness. Yes,  he  was  abed,  she  told  herself.  Then  she 
smiled.  An  idea  had  flashed  through  her  mind.  Should 
she  walk  over  to  the  hut,  and — and  listen  at  the  open 
window  for  the  sound  of  his  breathing? 

Her  smile  brought  with  it  a  blush  of  modesty,  and  the 
idea  passed.  Then  with  its  going  her  eyes  turned  away, 
and,  suddenly,  they  became  fixed  upon  the  indistinct  out- 
line of  the  gate  in  the  fencing  of  her  vegetable  patch. 
She  could  just  make  out  the  figure  of  a  man  standing  on 
the  far  side  of  it.  For  the  moment  the  joyous  thought 
that  it  was  Will  came  to  her.  Then  she  negatived  the 
idea.  The  outline  was  too  large.  She  thought  for  a 
moment,  and  then,  in  a  low  voice,  called  the  man  by 
name. 

"  Peter  ?     That  you  ?  " 

The  gate  opened,  and  the  man's  heavy  tread  came  up 
the  narrow  path. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  as  he  came.  "  1  was  just  passing,  and 
I  thought  I  saw  you  in  the  doorway."  He  had  reached 
the  house,  and  with  Eve  standing  on  the  door-sill,  his 
rugged  face  was  on  a  level  with  hers.  "  You're  kind  of 
late  up,  Eve,"  he  went  on  doubtfully.  "  That's  what 
made  me  stop.  There's  nothing  amiss  with — Elia  ?  "  he 
asked,  shrewdly. 

It  was  by  no  means  a  haphazard  question.  He  knew 
what  the  lad  had  been  through  that  night.  He  knew, 
too,  the  boy's  peculiar  nervous  temperament  and  its  pos- 
sibilities. 

"  What  makes  you  ask  ?  "  Eve  retorted  sharply.  She 
knew  something  must  have  happened  to  the  boy,  and  was 


A  Woman's  Care  107 

wondering  if  Peter  knew  what  it  was.  "  Why  should 
Elia  be  ill  ?  " 

Peter  scratched  his  rough,  gray  head.  His  mild,  blue 
2yes  twinkled  gently  in  the  lamplight  from  within  the 
house. 

"  Well,  seeing  you  were  up But  there,  I'm  glad 

it's  nothing.  I'll  pass  on."  Then  he  added  :  "  You  see, 
when  a  pretty  girl  gets  standing  in  the  doorway  late  at 
night — and  such  a  lovely  summer  night — and  she's  just — 
just  engaged,  I  don't  guess  she  wants  the  company  of  six 
foot  three  oi  a  misspent  life.  Good-night,  Eve,  my  dear. 
My  best  congratulations." 

But  the  girl  wanted  him.  Now  he  was  here  she  wanted 
to  talk  to  him  particularly. 

"  Don't  go,  Peter/'  she  said.  "  Something  is  the  mat- 
ter with  Elia.  He  is  ill — very  ill.  He's  had  the  worst  fit 
I've  ever  known  him  to  have,  and — and  I  don't  know  if 
he's  going  to  pull  round  when  he  wakes  up.  He  was  out 
late  this  evening,  and  I  don't  know  where  he's  been,  or — 
or  what  happened  to  him  while  he  was  out.  Something 
must  have  happened  to  him.  I  mean  something  to  upset 
him — either  to  anger  him,  or  to  terrify  him.  I  wish  I 
knew.  It  would  help  me  perhaps  when  he  wakes." 

Peter's  smile  had  gone.  His  eyes  were  full  of  sympathy. 
There  was  also  a  shadow  of  trouble  in  them,  too.  But 
Eve  did  not  see  it,  or,  if  she  did,  her  understanding  was 
at  fault.  They  stood  there  for  some  moments  in  silence, 
he  so  massive  yet  so  gentle,  she  so  slight  and  pretty,  yet 
so  filled  with  a  concern  which  harassed  her  mind  and 
heart.  Peter  was  thinking  very  hard,  and  though  he 
could  have  told  her  all  she  wanted  to  know,  though  his 
great  heart  ached  for  her  at  the  knowledge  which  was  his, 


lo8  The  One- Way  Trail 

he  refrained  from  saying  a  word  that  could  have  betrayed 
the  boy's  secret,  and  the  hideous  aspect  he  had  witnessed 
of  the  man  she  was  going  to  marry. 

"  You  had  the  Doc  to  him?  "  he  inquired. 

•'  Yes,  oh  yes.  Doc  dosed  him  to  make  him  sleep. 
Annie  Gay's  been  with  me  helping." 

"  Ah,  she's  a  good  woman." 

"  Yes,  she's  more  than  that.  She's  as  near  an  angel  as 
human  nature  will  let  her  be."  Then  Eve  abruptly 
changed  her  tone,  and  it  became  almost  appealing. 
"  Tell  me,  Peter,  what  do  you  think  could  hav?  happened 
to  Elia  ?  I  mean,  to  shock  him  so.  I've  tried  and  tried, 
but  I  can't  think — nor  can  Annie.  You  know  all  the 
boys,  you  go  amongst  them,  you  may  have  heard  ?  " 

But  Peter  was  ready,  and  answered  her  with  such 
simple  sincerity  that  she  could  not  question  him  further. 

"  I  guess,  Eve,  if  the  boy  has  had  any  trouble,  or  shock, 
he'll  tell  you  of  it  when  he  wakes— if  he  wants  you  to 
know.  I  don't  reckon  if  I  did  know  that  I'd  have  a  right 
to  speak  while  he — he  was  asleep.  I  say — if  I  did  know." 

"  I  see."  Then  the  girl  smiled  up  into  his  face  a  little 
whimsically.  "  You  men  have  a  curious  code  of  honor 
in  your  dealings  with  each  other.  Quite  different  to  us 
women." 

Peter  nodded. 

"  Yep,"  he  said,  "  we  haven't  the  same  perspective." 

The  eastern  horizon  was  lighting  with  a  golden  shadow 
and  the  sky -line  was  faintly  silhouetted  against  it.  It  was 
the  soft,  effulgent  light  which  heralded  the  full,  rising 
moon.  Eve  watched  it  in  silence  for  some  moments. 
Peter  followed  the  direction  of  her  eyes  while  he  went  on 
speaking. 


A  Woman's  Care  109 

"  When  are  you  getting  married,  Eve  ?  " 

The  question  came  hesitatingly. 

"  Then  you  know.  Of  course  you  know.  You  always 
seem  to  know,  and  yet  you  don't  seem  to  nose  about  like 
Anthony  Smallbones.  I'm  going  to  be  married  in  two 
months." 

The  man's  mild  eyes  were  kept  intently  fixed  on  the 
lightening  horizon. 

"  Two  months,"  he  said,  pondering.  "  And  Elia  ? 
What  of  him  ?  " 

The  girl  started.  She  turned  on  him,  and  her  pretty 
eyes  were  wide  with  astonishment. 

"  It  will  make  no  difference,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden 
coldness  she  could  not  have  accounted  for.  "  What  do 
you  mean?" 

Peter's  great  shoulders  shrugged. 

"  Why;  nothing,"  he  said.  "  It  kind  of  seemed  a 
natural  question." 

The  tone  brought  immediate  contrition  to  the  girl's 
warm  heart.  This  man  was  always  kind  to  her.  It  would 
have  been  difficult  to  remember  a  single  week  since  she 
had  lived  in  Barnriff  which  had  not  witnessed  at  least  one 
small  kindness  from  him.  Her  eyes  wandered  over  her 
garden.  He  had  not  long  finished  digging  it  over  for  her. 

"  Of  course  it  was  a  natural  question,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  only  I — well,  it  doesn't  eeem  to  me  as  if  there  could  be 
any  question  about  Elia.  Wherever  I  am,  he  will  be." 

"Just  so,  just  so.  He'll  still  live  with  you — you  and 
Will.  Y'see,  I  was  only  thinking.  If — if  you  wanted  a 
home  for  him  for  a  while,  while  you  and  Will  were — 
honeymooning,  now.  Why,  he'd  be  real  welcome  in  my 
shack.  He'd  want  for  nothing,  and  I'd  look  after  him 


1 10  The  One- Way  Trail 

same  as—  well,  not  perhaps  as  well  as  you  could,  but  I'd 
do  my  best.  Y'see,  Eve,  I  like  the  boy.  And,  and  his 
very  weakness  makes  me  want  to  help  him.  You  know 
he'd  get  good  food.  I'm  rather  particular  about  my  food, 
and  I  cook  it  myself.  He'd  have  eggs  for  breakfast,  and 
good  bacon,  not  sow-belly.  And  there's  no  hash  in  my 
shanty.  The  best  meat  Gay  sells,  and  he  could  have  all 
the  canned  truck  he  liked.  Oh,  I'd  feed  him  well.  And 
I've  always  got  a  few  dollars  for  pocket  money.  Y'see, 
Eve,  folks  honeymooning  don't  want  a  third  party  around, 
even  if  he's  a  sick  boy.  I'd  take  it  a  real  favor  if  you  said 
•  yes,'  I  would,  true.  I  can  look  after 

The  man  felt  one  of  her  warm  hands  squeezing  his 
arm  with  the  tenderest  pressure.  There  was  a  moisture 
in  her  eyes  as  she  sought  his,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"  Peter,  Peter,  I  don't  know  where  you  come  from,  I 
don't  know  why  you're  here,  unless  it  is  to  help  us  all  to 
be  better  folks.  I  know  why  you  want  to  take  Elia  off 
my  hands.  I  know,  and  the  matter  has  troubled  me 
some.  Elia  doesn't  like  Will.  I  know  that.  But  Elia  is 
my  care,  he's  more — he's  my  life.  He  will  be  with  me 
as  long  as  we  both  live,  even — yes,  even  if  I  had  to  give 
Will  up.  I  can't  tell  you,  Peter,  what  my  poor  weakly 
brother  is  to  me.  If  anything  happened  to  him  I  think 
it  would  break  my  heart.  And  it  seems  so  strange  to  me 
that  everybody,  that  is  everybody  but  Jim  Thorpe  and 
you,  dislikes  him.  Even  Will  does  a  little,  I — I'm  afraid." 

"  Yes.  You  can't  say  how  it  is,"  Peter  nodded.  "  But 
folks  can't  be  blamed  for  their  likes  and  dislikes.  Maybe 
Will  will  get  over  it.  Y'see  he's  just  a  wild  sort  of  Irish 
boy.  He's  just  quicksilver.  Yes,  yes,  he'll  maybe  grow 
to  be  as  fond  of  the  lad  as  you,  Eve.  But  any  time  you 


A  Woman's  Care  lit 

find  you'd  like  me  to  have  him  for  a  bit — I  mean — sort 
of — two's  company,  you  know— you'll  just  be  making  me 
a  happy  man — eh  ?  " 

It  was  a  cheery  voice  behind  him  that  caused  his  excla- 
mation. Annie  Gay  stepped  briskly  up  the  path. 

'•'  Why,  it's  Peter ! "  she  declared.  "  Now  if  it  had 
been  Will,"  she  added  slyly.  "  But  there,  young  engaged 
girls  think  they're  safe  from  scandalous  tongues  like 
mine.  Going,  Peter  ?  I've  just  been  down  to  the  meat 
store  and  stolen  an  elegant  bit  of  tripe.  Now,  if  Eve's 
only  sensible  and  got  some  onions,  why  there's  a  lunch 
fit  for  the  President." 

"  Oh  yes,  I've  got  onions/'  Eve  reassured  her.  Then 
she  turned  to  the  man.  "  Good-bye,,  Peter,"  she  said,  as 
he  edged  away, 6<  and  thank  you " 

But  Peter  would  have  no  thanks. 

"  No  thanks,  Eve,  I'd  take  it  a  favor." 

And  he  vanished  in  the  darkness  leaving  Annie  look- 
ing at  Eve,  who  instantly  began  to  explain  as  they  went 
indoors. 

"  He  thinks  Elia  will  be  in  the  way  when  Will  and  I 
are  married,"  she  said.  "  He  wants  to  look  after  him. 
Isn't  he  kind?" 

"  Well  ?  "     Annie's  merry  eyes  were  deadly  serious. 

"  Of  course  I  couldn't  think  of  it.  I  could  never  let 
him  go.  I " 

"  Eve  Marsham,  you're  a — fool,  and  now  I've  said  it. 
Do  you  know  why  Peter  wants ?  " 

She  broke  off  in  confusion.  But  she  had  successfully 
aroused  Eve's  curiosity. 

"  Well  ?     Go  on,"  she  demanded. 

But  Annie  shook  a  decided  head. 


•.  1 2  The  One- Way  Trail 

41  It  don't  matter.  I  was  only  thinking  my  own 
thoughts,  and  they  began  one  way  and  finished  another." 

"  How  did  they  finish  ?  "  Annie's  manner  was  quaintly 
amusing  and  Eve  found  herself  smiling. 

"  I'd  just  called  you  a  fool,  an' — I'd  forgot  to  include 
myself." 

Nor  could  she  be  induced  to  speak  further  on  the 
matter. 


CHAPTER  X 

AN   EVIL   NIGHT 

PETER  lumbered  heavily  away  from  the  house.  He  had 
known  the  futility  of  his  request  beforehand.  Yet  he 
had  to  make  it  even  on  the  smallest  chance.  And  now, 
more  than  ever,  in  spite  of  his  disappointment,  he  saw 
how  imperative  it  was  that  some  one  should  stand  by  to 
help  any  one  of  these  three.  Old  "  saws  "  were  not  for 
him.  The  world-old  advice  to  the  would-be  interferer 
might  be  for  those  of  less  thought,  less  tact.  Besides,  he 
had  no  intention  of  interfering.  He  only  meant  to 
"  stand  by."  That  was  the  key-note  of  his  whole  nature, 
his  whole  life. 

And  the  night  had  revealed  so  much  to  him.  His 
horizon  was  bounded  by  storm-clouds  threatening  uncon- 
scious lives.  There  they  were  banking,  banking,  low 
down,  so  as  to  be  almost  invisible,  and  he  knew  that  they 
were  only  waiting  a  favoring  breeze  to  mount  up  into  the 
heavens  into  one  vast  black  mass.  And  then  the  break- 
ing-of  the  storm.  His  calm  brain  was  for  once  feverishly 
at  work.  Those  three  must  somehow  be  herded  to  shel- 
ter ;  and  he  wondered  how.  His  first  play  had  proved 
abortive,  and  now  he  wondered. 

It  was  his  intention  to  return  to  his  hut  for  the  night, 
and  he  stood  for  a  moment  contemplating  the  dark  vil- 
lage. His  busy  thoughts  decided  for  him  that  there  was 
nothing  further  to  be  done  to-night.  He  told  himself 


114  The  One- Way  Trail 

that  opportunity  must  be  his  guide  in  the  riddle  with 
which  he  was  confronted.  He  must  rush  nothing,  and 
he  felt,  somehow,  that  the  opportunity  would  come.  He 
turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  his  home,  and  as  he 
was  about  to  move  off  he  became  aware  of  a  footstep 
crossing  the  market-place  toward  him.  He  waited.  The 
sound  came  from  the  direction  of  the  saloon,  and,  as  he 
gazed  that  way,  he  saw  the  lights  in  the  building  go  out 
one  by  one.  The  person  approaching  was  one  of  the 
44  boys  "  homeward  bound. 

He  was  half  inclined  to  continue  on  his  way  and  thus 
avoid  the  probably  drunken  man,  but  something  held 
him,  and  a  moment  later  he  was  glad  when  he  saw  the 
figure  of  Jim  Thorpe  loom  up.  As  they  came  into  view 
of  each  other  Thorpe  hesitated.  Nor  was  it  till  he  recog- 
nized the  huge  outline  of  Peter  that  he  came  close  up. 

••  That  you,  Peter  ?  "  he  said. 

And  Peter,  listening,  recognized  that  Jim  was  sober. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  just  going  home." 

"  Me,  too." 

There  was  a  brief  pause  after  that,  and  both  men  were 
thinking  of  the  same  thing.  It  was  of  the  scene  recently 
enacted  at  the  saloon.  Peter  was  the  one  to  break  the 
silence,  and  he  ignored  that  which  was  in  his  thoughts. 

"  Coin'  to  the  ranch  on  foot,  and  by  way  of  Eve's 
shack,"  he  said  in  his  gently  humorous  fashion. 

"  Ye-es,"  responded  Jim  after  a  moment's  thought. 
Then  he  added  with  a  conscious  laugh,  "  My  '  plug  '  is 
back  there  at  Rocket's  tie-post,  waiting,  saddled."  Then 
he  went  on,  becoming  suddenly  earnest.  "  Peter,  I'm 
going  for  good.  That  is,  I'm  going  to  quit  McLagan's, 
and  get  out  You  see,  I  just  wanted  to  have  a  look  at  her 


An  Evil  Night  115 

shack — for  the  last  time,  I — I  don't  feel  I  can  go  with- 
out that.  She  won't  see  me,  and " 

"  Sort  of  final  look  round  before  you  quit  the — sinking 
ship,  eh  ?  " 

The  quiet  seriousness  of  the  big  man's  tone  sounded 
keenly  incisive  in  the  stillness  of  the  dark  night.  Jim 
started,  and  hot  blood  mounted  to  his  head.  He  had 
beeYi  through  so  much  that  day  that  his  nerves  were  still 
on  edge. 

"  What  d'ye  mean  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply.  "  Who's 
deserting  a  sinking  ship — where's  the  sinking  ship  ?  " 

Peter  pointed  back  at  Eve's  home. 

"  There,"  he  said. 

But  Jim  shook  his  head. 

"  I've  drunk  a  lot  to-day.  Maybe  my  head's  not  clear. 
Maybe " 

Peter's  voice  broke  in. 

"  It  doesn't  need  much  clearness  to  understand,  if  you 
know  all  the  facts.  I'm  not  going  to  tell  all  I've  seen  and 
heard  to-day  either.  But  I'm  going  to  say  a  few  words  to 
you,  Jim,  because  I  know  you  and  like  you,  and  because, 
in  spite  of  a  few  cranks  in  your  head,  you're  a  man.  Just 
now  you're  feeling  reckless.  Nothing  much  matters  to 
you.  You're  telling  yourself  that  there's  no  particular 
reason  keeping  straight.  You  have  no  interest,  and  when 
the  end  comes  you'll  just  shut  out  your  lights  and — well, 
there's  nothing  more  to  it.  That's  how  you're  think- 
ing." 

"  And  what's  my  thoughts  to  do  with  quitting  a  sinking 
ship?"  Jim  asked  a  trifle  impatiently.  "I  don't  deny 
you're  likely  right.  I  confess  I  don't  see  that  there's  much 
incentive  to — well,  to  stick  to  a  straight  and  narrow 


u  6  The  One- Way  Trail 

course.  I'll  certainly  strike  a  gait  of  my  own,  and  I  don't 
know  that  it'll  be  a  slow  one.  It'll  be  honest  though. 
It'll  be  honest  as  far  as  the  laws  of  man  go.  As  for  the 
other  laws,  well,  they're  for  my  personal  consideration  as 
far  as  my  life  is  concerned.  But  this  sinking  ship.  I'd 
like  to  know." 

"  You  love  Eve  ?  "  Peter  abruptly  demanded. 

"  For  G — 's  sake,  what  are  you  driving  at  ?  " 

"  You  love  her?"  Peter's  demand  would  admit  of  no 
avoidance. 

"  Better  than  my  life." 

Jim's  answer  was  deep  down  in  his  voice;  his  whole 
soul  was  in  his  reply. 

"  Then  don't  quit  McLagan's,  boy,"  Peter  went  on 
earnestly.  ", Don't  quit  Barnriff.  Jim,  boy,  you  can't 
have  her,  but  you  can  help  her  to  happiness  by  standing 
by,  I'm  going  to  stand  by,  too,  for  she's  going  to  need 
all  the  help  we  can  both  give  her." 

"  But  how  can  I  '  stand  by  '  with  Will — her  husband  ?  " 

"  You  must  stand  by  because  he's  her  husband." 

"  God ! " 

"  Jim,  can't  you  try  to  forget  things  where  he's  con- 
cerned ?  Can't  you  try  to  forget  that  shooting  match  and 
its  result?  Can't  you?  Think  well.  Can't  you,  out- 
wardly at  least,  make  things  up  with  him  ?  It'll  help  to 
keep  him  right,  and  help  toward  her  happiness.  Jim,  I 
ask  you  to  do  this  for  her  sake,  lad.  I  know  what  you 
don't  know,  and  I  can't  tell  you.  It's  best  I  don't  tell  you. 
It  would  do  worse  than  no  good.  You  say  you  love  her 
better  than  life.  Well,  boy,  if  Eve's  to  be  made  happy 
we  must  help  to  keep  Will  right.  He's  got  a  devil 
\n  him  somewhere,  and  anything  that  goes  awry  with 


An  Evil  Night  117 

him  sets  that  devil  raging.  Are  you  going  to  help  Eve, 
Jim?" 

It  was  some  moments  before  any  answer  was  forthcom- 
ing. It  was  the  old  battle  going  on  of  the  man  against 
himself.  All  that  was  human  in  Jim  was  tearing  him  in 
one  direction,  while  his  better  side — his  love  for  Eve — was 
pulling  him  in  the  opposite.  He  hated  Will  now.  He 
had  given  way  in  this  direction  completely-.  The  man's 
final  outrage  at  the  saloon  had  killed  his  last  grain  of  feel- 
ing for  him.  And  now  he  was  called  upon  to — outwardly, 
at  least — take  up  his  old  attitude  toward  him,  a  course 
that  would  help  Will  to  give  the  woman  he  had  robbed 
him  of  the  happiness  which  he  himself  was  not  allowed 
to  bestow.  Was  ever  so  outrageous  a  demand  upon  a 
man  ?  He  laughed  bitterly,  and  aloud. 

"  No,  no,  Peter ;  it  can't  be  done.  I'm  no  saint.  I'd 
hate  to  be  a  saint.  Will  can  go  hang — he  can  go  to  the 
devil !  And  I  say  that  because  I  love  Eve  better  than  all 
else  in  the  world." 

"And  the  first  sacrifice  for  that  love  you  refuse?  " 

"  Yes.     I  refuse  to  give  my  friendship  to  Will." 

"  You  love  her,  yet  you  will  not  help  her  to  happi- 
ness ?  " 

"  She  shall  never  lack  for  happiness  through  me." 

Peter  smiled  in  the  darkness.  A  sigh  of  something 
like  satisfaction  escaped  him.  He  knew  that,  in  spite  of 
the  man's  spoken  refusal,  his  appeal  was  not  entirely 
unavailing. 

"  You  won't  leave  McLagan's  then  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Not  if  Eve  needs  me." 

"  Then  don't." 

But  Jim  became  suddenly  impatient. 


ii8  The  One- Way  Trail 

44  For  G — 's  sake,  man,  can't  you  speak  out  ?  " 

41  For  Eve's  sake,  I  won't,"  was  the  quiet  rejoinder. 

"  Then,  Peter,  I'm  going  right  on  to  the  ranch  now. 
I'll  remain.  But,  remember,  I  am  no  longer  a  friend  of 
Will's — and  never  will  be  again.  I'll  never  even  pretend. 
But  if  I  can  help  Eve  you  can  call  on  me.  And — I  put 
no  limit  on  the  hand  I  play.  So  long." 

"  So  long." 


CHAPTER  XI 

A    WEDDING-DAY    IN    BARNRIFF 

IF  signs  and  omens  meant  anything  at  all,  Eve  Marsham 
and  Will  Henderson  were  about  to  embark  on  a  happy 
and  prosperous  married  life.  So  said  the  women  of 
Barnriff*  on  the  day  fixed  for  the  wedding.  The  feminine 
heart  of  Barnriff  was  a  superstitious  organ.  It  loved 
and  hugged  to  itself  its  belief  in  forebodings  and  portents. 
It  never  failed  to  find  the  promise  of  disaster  or  good- 
fortune  in  the  trivialities  of  its  daily  life.  It  was  so 
saturated  with  superstition  that,  on  the  morning  of  the 
wedding,  every  woman  in  the  place  was  on  the  lookout 
for  some  recognized  sign,  and,  finding  none,  probably 
invented  one. 

And  the  excitement  of  it  all.  The  single-minded, 
wholesome  delight  in  the  thought  of  this  wedding  was  as 
refreshing  as  the  crisp  breezes  of  a  first  bright  spring  day. 
To  a  woman  they  reveled  in  the  thought.  It  was  the 
first  wedding  actually  to  take  place  in  the  village  for  over 
seven  years.  Everybody  marrying  during  that  period  had 
elected  to  seek  the  consummation  of  their  happiness  else- 
where. And  as  a  consequence  of  this  enthusiasm,  there 
was  a  surplus  of  help  in  getting  the  meeting-room 
suitably  clad  for  the  occasion,  and  the  preparations  for  the 
"  sociable  "  and  dance  which  were  to  follow  the  ceremony. 

Was  there  ever  such  a  day  in  Barnriff?  the  women 
asked  each  other.  None  of  them  remembered  one.  Then 


120  The  One- Way  Trail 

look  at  the  day  itself.  True  it  was  the  height  of  summer  ; 
but  then  who  had  not  seen  miserable  weather  in  summer  ? 
Look  at  the  sun  gleaming  out  of  a  perfect  azure. 

Mrs.  Crombie,  a  florid  dame  of  adequate  size,  if  of 
doubtful  dignity  to  fill  her  position  as  spouse  of  Barnriff's 
first  citizen,  dragged  Mrs.  Horsley,  the  lay  preacher's  wife, 
through  the  door  of  the  Mission  Room,  in  which,  with 
the  others,  they  were  both  working  at  the  decorations,  to 
view  the  sky. 

"  Look  at  it,  my  dear ! "  she  cried  enthusiastically. 
"  Was  there  ever  a  better  omen  for  the  poor  dear  ?  Not 
a  cloud  anywhere.  Not  one.  And  it's  deep  blue,  too; 
none  of  your  steel  blues,  or  one  of  them  fady  blues  run- 
ning to  white.  Say,  ain't  she  lucky?  Now,  when 
Crombie  took  me  the  heavens  was  just  pouring.  Every- 
body said  '  Tears '  prompt  enough,  and  with  reason. 
That's  what  they  said.  But  me  and  Crombie  has  never 
shed  a  tear;  no,  not  one.  We've  just  laffed  our  way 
clear  through  to  this  day,  we  have.  Well,  I  won't  say 
Crombie  does  a  heap  of  laffing,  but  you'll  take  my 
meaning." 

And  Carrie  Horsley  took  it.  She  would  have  agreed 
to  anything  so  long  as  she  could  get  a  chance  to  empty 
her  reservoirs  of  enthusiasm  into  the  Barn  riff  sea. 

"  You  sure  are  a  lucky  woman,  Kate.  Maybe  the  rain 
wasn't  an  omen  for  you  at  all.  Maybe  it  was  for  the  folks 
that  didrit  marry  on  that  day.  You  see,  it's  easy  reading 
these  things  wrong.  Now  I  never  read  omens  wrong, 
an'  the  one  I  see  this  morning  when  I  was  bathin'  my 
little  Sammy  boy  was  dead  sure.  You  see,  I  got  to  bathe 
him  every  morning  for  his  spots,  which  is  a  heap  better 
now.  And  I'm  real  glad,  for  Abe  has  got  them  spots  on 


A  Wedding-Day  in  BarnrifF  1 2 1 

his  mind.  He  guessed  it  was  my  blood  out  of  order. 
Said  I  needed  sulphur  in  my  tea.  I  kicked  at  that,  an' 
said  he'd  need  to  drink  it,  too.  An',  as  he  allowed  he'd 
given  up  tea  on  account  of  his  digestion,  nothing  come 
of  it.  Of  course  I  knew  Sammy  boy's  spots  was  on'y  a 
teething  rash,  but  men  is  so  queer ;  spechully  if  the  child's 
the  first,  and  a  boy.  Now  what " 

44  And  the  omen,  dear  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Crombie,  who 
had  all  a  woman's  interest  in  babies,  but  was  just  then 
ensnared  in  the  net  of  superstition  which  held  all  Barnriff. 

"  The  omen  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  was  coming  to  that.  You 
see,  as  I  said  I  can  read  them,  an'  this  is  one  that  never 
fails,  never.  I've  proved  it.  When  you  prove  an  omen, 
stick  to  it,  I  says — and  it  pays.  Now,  this  morning  I  set 
my  stockings  on  the  wrong — ahem — legs,  and  not  one, 
but  both  of  them  was  inside  out.  There's  bad  luck,  as 
you  might  say  And  folks  say  that  to  escape  it  you  must 
keep  'em  that  ways  all  day.  But  I  changed  'em  !  Yes, 
mam,  I  changed  'em  right  in  the  face  of  misfortune,  as 
you  might  say.  And  why  ?  you  ask.  Because  I've  done 
it  before,  and  nothing  come  of  it.  And  how  did  I  change 
'em  ?  you  ask.  Why,  I  stood  to  my  knees  in  Sammy's 
bath  water,  an'  then  told  Abe  I'd  got  my  feet  wet  bath- 
ing him.  He  says  change  'em  right  away,  Carrie,  he 
says,  and,  him  being  my  man,  why  I  just  changed  'em, 
seein'  I  swore  to  obey  him  at  the  altar." 

"  Very  wise,"  observed  Kate  Crombie,  sapiently.  "  But 
this  omen  for  Eve ?  " 

"  To  be  sure.  I  was  just  coming  to  it.  Well,  it  wasn't 
much,  as  you  might  say,  but  I've  proved  it  before.  It 
come  when  I  was  ladling  out  Abe's  cereal — he  always  has 
a  cereal  for  breakfast.  He  says  it  eases  his  tubes  when 


122  The  One- Way  Trail 

he  preaches  for  the  minister — well,  it  come  as  I  was  la- 
dling out  his  cereal ;  it  was  oatmeal  porridge,  Scotch — 
something  come  over  me,  an'  my  arm  shook.  It  was 
most  unusual.  Well,  some  of  the  cereal  dropped  right 
on  to  the  floor.  Kate  Crombie,  that  porridge  dropped, 
an'  when  I  looked  there  was  a  ring  on  the  floor,  a  ring, 
my  dear.  A  wedding-ring  of  porridge,  as  you  might  say. 
Did  I  call  Abe's  attention  to  it?  I  says, '  Abe/  I  says, 
•  look ! '  He  looked.  And  not  getting  my  meaning 
proper,  he  says, '  Call  the  dog  an'  let  him  lick  it  up ! ' 
With  that  I  says, '  Abe,  ain't  you  got  eyes  ? '  And  he 
being  slow  in  some  things  guessed  he  had.  Then  seeing 
I  was  put  about  some,  he  says, 4  Carrie/  he  says,  •  what 
d'ye  mean  ? '  I  see  he  was  all  of  a  quiver  then,  and  feel- 
ing kind  of  sorry  for  his  ignorance  I  just  shrugged  at 
him.  '  Marriage  bed  ! '  says  I.  '  And/  I  says,  feeling  he 
hadn't  quite  got  it,  '  in  Barnriff/  If  that  wasn't  Eve's 
good  luck,  why,  I  ask  you." 

"And  when  you  were  bathing " 

"  Oh,  that — that  was  another,"  Carrie  replied  hastily. 
"I'll  tell  you " 

But  Kate  heard  herself  called  away  at  that  moment, 
and  hurried  back  into  the  hall.  Her  genius  for  adminis- 
tration was  the  ruling  power  in  the  work  of  decoration, 
and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  helpers  needed  her  controlling 
hand  to  get  the  work  done  by  noon,  which  was  the  time 
fixed  for  the  wedding. 

But  omen  was  the  talk  everywhere ;  it  was  impossible 
to  avoid  it.  Every  soul  in  the  place  had  her  omen.  Jane 
Restless  had  a  magpie.  That  very  morning  the  bird  had 
stolen  a  leaden  plummet  belonging  to  Restless  and 
carried  it  to  her  cage,  where  she  promptly  set  to 


A  Wedding-Day  in  Barnriff  123 

work  to  hatch  it  out.  And  she  fought  when  Zac  went  to 
take  it  away.  She  made  such  a  racket  when  it  was  gone 
that  Jane  was  sorry,  and  picked  out  a  small  chicken's 
egg  and  put  it  into  the  bird's  cage.  "  And,  my  dears/' 
she  concluded  triumphantly,  "  the  langwidge  that  bird 
used  trying  to  cover  up  all  that  egg  was  simply  awful. 
What  about  that  for  luck  ?  A  magpie  sittin'  on  a  wed- 
ding-day ! " 

But,  perhaps,  of  the  whole  list  of  omens  that  happened 
that  morning,  Pretty  Wilkes,  the  baker's  wife,  held  the 
greatest  interest  for  them  all.  She  was  a  woman  whose 
austerity  was  renowned  in  the  village,  and  Wilkes  was 
generally  considered  something  of  a  hero.  Her  man  had 
won  seventy  dollars  at  poker  the  previous  night,  and  had 
got  very  drunk  in  the  process.  And  being  well  aware  of 
the  vagaries  of  his  wife's  sense  of  conjugal  honor,  had, 
with  a  desperate  drunken  cunning,  bestowed  it  over  night 
in  the  coal-box,  well  knowing  that  it  was  one  of  his  many 
domestic  pleasures  to  have  the  honor  of  lighting  the  cook- 
stove  for  his  spouse  every  morning.  "  And  would  you 
believe  it,  girls  ?  "  she  cried  ecstatically.  "  If  it  hadn't 
have  been  Eve's  wedding-day,  and  I'd  got  to  bake  cakes 
for  the  sociable,  and  so  had  to  be  up  at  three  this  very 
morning,  while  he  was  still  dreaming  he  was  a  whiskey 
trust  or  some  other  drunken  delusion,  I'd  sure  never  have 
seen  that  wad  nor  touched  five  cents  of  it,  he's  that  close. 
Say,  girls,"  she  beamed,  "  I  never  said  a  word  to  Jake  for 
getting  soused,  not  a  word.  And  I  let  him  sleep  right 
on,  an*  when  he  woke  to  light  fires,  and  start  baking,  I 
just  give  him  a  real  elegant  breakfast  with  cream  in  his 
coffee,  an'  asked  him  if  he'd  like  a  bottle  of  rye  for  his 
head.  But  say,  1  never  see  him  shovel  coal  harder  in 


1 24  The  One- Way  Trail 

my  life  than  he  did  in  that  coal-box  after  breakfast.  I'd 
like  to  gamble  he's  still  shovelin'  it." 

It  certainly  was  a  gala  day  in  Barnriff.  The  festivity 
had  even  penetrated  to  the  veins  of  Silas  Rocket,  and 
possessed  him  of  an  atmosphere  which  "  let  him  in  "  to  the 
extent  of  three  rounds  of  drinks  to  the  boys  before  eleven 
o'clock.  The  men  for  the  most  part  took  a  long  time 
with  their  morning  ablutions.  But  the  effect  was  really 
impressive  and  quite  worth  the  extra  trouble.  The  result 
so  lightened  up  the  dingy  village,  that  some  of  them,  one 
realized,  had  considerable  pretensions  to  good  looks.  And 
a  further  curious  thing  about  this  cleansing  process  was 
that  it  affected  their  attitude  toward  each  other.  Their 
talk  became  less  familiar,  a  wave  of  something  almost 
like  politeness  set  in.  It  suggested  a  clean  starched  shirt 
just  home  from  the  laundry/  They  walked  about  without 
their  customary  slouch,  and  each  man  radiated  an  atmos- 
phere of  conscious  rectitude  that  became  almost  impor- 
tance. Peter  Blunt,  talking  to  Doc  Crombie,  said  he'd 
never  seen  so  many  precise  creases  in  broadcloth  since 
he'd  lived  in  Barn  riff. 

There  was  no  business  to  be  done  that  day.  Even 
Smallbones  was  forced  to  keep  his  doors  shut,  though  not 
without  audible  protest.  He  asserted  loudly  that  Congress 
should  be  asked  to  pass  a  law  preventing  marriages  taking 
place  in  mercantile  centres. 

No  one  saw  the  bride  and  bridegroom  that  morning 
except  Peter  Blunt  and  Annie  Gay.  Annie  was  acting 
as  Eve's  maid  for  the  occasion.  She  positively  refused  to 
let  the  girl  dress  herself,  and  though  she  could  not  be  her 
bridesmaid,  had  expressed  her  deliberate  intention  of  being 
her  strong  support.  She  and  Eve  had  worked  together  on 


A  Wedding-Day  in  BarnrifF         .      125 

the  wedding  dress,  which  was  of  simple  white  lawn. 
They  had  discussed  together  the  trousseau,  and  made  it. 
They  had  talked  and  talked  together  over  the  whole  thing 
for  two  months,  and  she  had  handed  Eve  so  much  advice 
out  of  her  store  of  connubial  wisdom,  that  she  was  not 
going  to  give  up  her  place  now. 

So  it  was  arranged  that  Gay  was  to  give  Eve  away,  and 
Annie  was  to  be  ready  at  the  girl's  elbow.  That  was  how 
Annie  put  it.  And  no  one  but  herself  knew  quite  what 
she  meant.  However,  it  seemed  to  be  perfectly  satis- 
factory to  Eve,  and  their  preparations  continued,  a  whirl 
of  delight  to  them  both. 

Peter  Blunt  was  Will's  best  man.  And  he  found  him- 
self left  with  nothing  much  to  do  but  smile  upon  inquir- 
ers after  the  bridegroom  on  the  eventful  day.  His  other 
duties  were  wrested  from  him  by  anybody  and  everybody 
in  the  place,  which  was  a  matter  of  considerable  relief, 
although  he  was  willing  enough.  But  there  was  one 
other  duty  which  could  not  be  snatched  from  him,  and  it 
was  one  that  weighed  seriously  on  his  kindly  mind.  It 
was  the  care  of  the  wedding-ring.  That,  and  the  fear 
lest  he  should  not  produce  it  at  exactly  the  right  moment, 
gave  him  much  cause  for  anxiety.  Mrs.  Gay  had  done 
her  duty  by  him.  She  had  marked  the  place  in  the  service 
which  he  must  study.  And  he  had  studied  earnestly. 
But  as  the  hour  of  the  wedding  approached  his  nerves 
tried  him,  and  between  fingering  the  ring  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket  and  repeating  his  "  cues ''  over  to  himself,  he 
reached  a  painful  condition  of  mental  confusion  which 
bordered  closely  on  a  breakdown. 

At  half-past  eleven  the  village  was  abustle  with  people 
emerging  from  their  houses.  It  was  Gay  who  sighed  as 


126  The  One- Way  Trail 

he  surveyed  the  throng.  Not  a  soul  but  had  a  bvoad 
smile  on  his  or  her  lace.  And  what  with  that,  and  the 
liberal  use  of  soap,  such  an  atmosphere  of  health  had 
been  arrived  at  that  he  pictured  in  his  mind  the  final  wind- 
ing up  of  his  affairs  as  an  undertaker. 

Then  came  the  saunter  over  to  the  Mission  Room. 
Everybody  sauntered  ;  it  was  as  if  they  desired  to  prolong 
the  sensation.  Besides,  the  women  required  to  look 
about  them — at  other  women — and  the  men  followed  in 
their  wake,  feeling  that  in  all  such  affairs  they  acknowl- 
edged the  feminine  leadership.  They  felt  that  somehow 
they  were  there  only  on  sufferance,  a  necessary  evil  to  be 
pushed  into  the  background,  like  any  other  domestic 
skeleton. 

The  Mission  Room  was  packed,  and  the  rustle  of 
starched  skirts,  and  the  cleanly  laundry  atmosphere  that 
pervaded  the  place  was  wonderfully  wholesome.  The 
gathering  suggested  nothing  so  much  as  simple  human 
nature  dipped  well  in  the  purifying  soap-suds  of  sympathy, 
rubbed  out  on  the  washing  board  of  religious  emotion, 
and  ironed  and  goffered  to  a  proper  sheen  of  wholesome 
curiosity.  They  were  assembled  there  to  witness  the 
launching  of  a  sister's  bark  upon  the  matrimonial 
waters,  and  in  each  and  every  woman's  mind  there  were 
thoughts  picturing  themselves  in  a  similar  position.  The 
married  women  reflected  on  past  scenes,  while  the  maids 
among  them  possibly  contemplated  the  time  when  that 
ceremonial  would  be  performed  with  them  as  the  central 
interest. 

The  happiness  was  not  all  Eve's,  it  was  probably 
shared  by  the  majority  of  the  women  present.  She  was 
the  object  that  conjured  their  minds  from  the  dull 


A  Wedding-Day  in  BarnrifF  127 

monotony  of  their  daily  routine  to  realms  of  happy  fancy. 
And  the  picture  was  drawn  in  a  setting  of  Romance,  with 
Love  well  in  the  foreground,  and  the  guardian  angel  of 
Perfect  Happiness  hovering  over  all.  No  doubt  some- 
where in  the  picture  a  man  was  skulking,  but  even  in  the 
light  of  matrimonial  experience  this  was  not  sufficient  to 
spoil  the  full  enjoyment  of  those  moments. 

The  bridegroom  arrived.  Yes,  he  was  certainly  good- 
looking  in  his  new  suit  from  "  down  East."  Dressed  as 
he  was  he  did  not  belong  to  Barnriff.  He  looked  what 
he  had  been  brought  up,  of  an  altogether  different  class 
to  the  folks  gathered  in  the  room. 

One  or  two  of  the  matrons  shook  their  heads.  They 
did  not  altogether  approve  of  him.  He  was  well  enough 
known  for  a  certain  unsteadiness  ;  then,  too,  there  was  a 
boyishness  about  his  look,  an  irresponsibility  which  was 
not  general  among  the  hard  features  of  the  men  they 
knew.  Most  of  these  thought  that  Eve  was  rather  throw- 
ing herself  away.  They  all  believed  that  she  would  have 
done  far  better  to  have  chosen  Jim  Thorpe. 

Then  came  the  bride,  and  necks  craned  and  skirts  rus- 
tled, and  audible  whisperings  were  in  the  air.  Annie 
Gay,  following  behind,  heard  and  saw,  and  a  thrill  of  de- 
light brought  tears  to  her  sympathetic  eyes.  She  knew 
how  pretty  Eve  was.  Had  she  not  dressed  her?  Had 
she  not  feasted  her  eyes  on  her  all  the  morning?  Had 
she  not  been  a  prey  to  a  good  honest  feminine  envy  ? 

And  Eve's  dress  was  almost  as  pretty  as  herself.  There 
were  just  a  few  touches  of  a  delicate  pink  on  the  white 
lawn  to  match  her  own  warmth  of  coloring.  Her  gentle 
eyes  were  lowered  modestly  as  she  walked  through  the 
crowd,  but  if  their  pretty  brown  was  hidden  from  the 


128  The  One- Way  Trail 

public  gaze  her  wealth  of  rich,  warm  hair  was  not,  and 
Eve's  hair  was  the  delight  and  envy  of  every  woman  in 
Barnriff.  Yes,  they  were  all  very,  very  pleased  with  her, 
particularly  as  she,  being  a  dressmaker  with  all  sorts  of 
possibilities  in  the  way  of  a  wedding-dress  within  her 
reach,  had  elected  to  wear  a  dress  which  any  one  of  them 
could  have  afforded,  any  one  of  them  had  possibly  worn 
in  her  time. 

The  ceremony  proceeded  with  due  solemnity.  The 
minister  was  all  sympathetic  unction,  and  was  further  a 
perfect  model  of  dignified  patience  when  Peter  Blunt 
finally  scrambled  the  ring  into  the  bridegroom's  hand 
several  lines  later  than  was  his  "  cue,"  but  in  time  to  save 
himself  from  utter  disgrace.  And  the  end  came  emo- 
tionally, as  was  only  to  be  expected  in  such  a  commu- 
nity. Kate  Crombie,  being  leader  of  the  village  society, 
started  it.  She  promptly  laid  her  head  on  Jake  Wilkes' 
shoulder  and  sniveled.  Nor  was  it  until  he  turned  his 
head  and  fumbled  out  awkward  words  of  consolation  to 
her,  that  the  reek  of  stale  rye  warned  her  of  her  mistake, 
and  she  promptly  came  to  and  looked  for  her  husband 
to  finish  it  out  on. 

Annie  Gay  wept  happy  tears,  and  laughed  and  cried 
joyously.  Jane  Restless  borrowed  her  man's  bandana 
and  blew  her  nose  like  a  steam  siren,  declaring  that  the 
heat  always  gave  her  catarrh.  Carrie  Horsley  guessed 
she'd  never  seen  so  pretty  a  bride  so  elegantly  dressed, 
and  wept  down  the  front  of  Eve's  spotless  lawn  the  mo- 
ment she  got  near  enough.  Mrs.  Rust  sniffed  audibly,  and 
hoped  she  would  be  happy,  but  warned  her  strongly  against 
the  tribulations  of  an  ever-increasing  family,  and  finally 
flopped  heavily  into  a  chair  calling  loudly  for  brandy. 


A  Wedding-Day  in  Barnriff  129 

It  was,  in  Doc  Crombie's  words,  "  the  old  hens  who 
got  emotions."  It  was  only  the  younger  women,  the 
spinsters,  who  laughed  and  flirted  with  the  men,  giggling 
hysterically  at  the  sallies  ever  dear  at  a  matrimonial  func- 
tion which  flew  from  lip  to  lip.  But  then,  as  Pretty 
Wilkes  told  her  particular  crony  Mrs.  Rust  later  on  at  the 
sociable  — 

"  It  was  the  same  with  us,  my  dear,"  she  said  feelingly. 
"  Speaking  personal,  before  I  was  married,  I'd  got  the 
notion,  foolish-like,  that  every  man  had  kind  o'  got  loose 
out  of  heaven,  an'  we  women  orter  set  up  a  gilded  cage 
around  'em,  an'  feed  'em  cookies,  an'  any  other  elegant 
fancy  truck  we  could  get  our  idiot  hands  on.  They  was 
a  sort  of  idol  to  be  bowed  an'  scraped  to.  They  was  the 
rulers  of  our  destiny,  the  lords  of  the  earth.  But  now  I'm 
of  the  opinion  that  the  best  man  among  'em  couldn't  run 
a  low  down  hog  ranch  without  disgracin'  hisself." 

It  was  not  till  after  the  ceremony  was  over,  and  be- 
fore the  "  sociable,"  which  was  to  precede  the  bride  and 
bridegroom's  departure  for  Will's  shack  up  in  the  hills, 
where  she  was  to  spend  a  fortnight's  honeymoon  before 
returning  to  Barnriff  to  take  up  again  the  work  of  her 
dressmaking  business,  that  Peter  Blunt  had  time  to  think 
of  other  things.  He  was  not  required  in  the  ordering  of 
the  "  sociable."  The  women  would  look  to  that. 

Before  he  left  the  Mission  Room,  to  return  to  his  hut 
to  see  that  his  preparations  were  complete  for  Eiia  to 
take  up  his  abode  with  him  for  the  next  fortnight — he 
had  finally  obtained  Eve's  consent  to  this  arrangement — 
he  scanned  the  faces  of  the  assembled  crowd  closely.  He 
had  seen  nothing  of  Jim  Thorpe  during  th«  last  two 
months,  except  on  the  rare  occasions  when  the  foreman 


130  The  One- Way  Trail 

of  the  "  AZ's  "  had  visited  the  saloon.  And  at  these 
times  neither  had  mentioned  Eve's  wedding.  Now  he 
was  anxious  to  find  out  if  Jim  had  bee'n  amongst  the 
spectators  at  the  wedding,  a  matter  which  to  his  mind 
was  of  some  importance.  It  was  impossible  to  ascertain 
from  where  he  stood,  and  finally  he  made  his  way  to  the 
bottom  of  the  hall  where  the  door  had  been  opened  and 
people  were  beginning  to  move  out.  As  he  reached  the 
back  row  benches  he  bumped  into  the  burly  Gay. 

"  Seen  Thorpe  ?  "  he  inquired  quickly. 

Gay  pointed  through  the  door. 

"  Yonder,"  he  said.  "  Say,  let's  get  a  drink.  This 
dogone  marryin'  racket's  calc'lated  to  set  a  camel  dry." 

But  Peter  wanted  Thorpe  and  refused  the  man's  invi- 
tation. He  was  glad  Jim  had  come  in  for  the  wedding, 
and  hurried  out  in  pursuit.  He  caught  his  man  in  the 
act  of  mounting  his  broncho. 

"  Say,  Jim  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  hastened  up. 

Nor  did  he  continue  as  the  ranchman  turned  and  faced 
him.  He  had  never  seen  quite  such  an  expression  on 
Jim's  face  before.  The  dark  eyes  were  fiercely  alight, 
the  clean-cut  brows  were  drawn  together  in  an  expression 
that  might  have  indicated  either  pain  or  rage.  His  jaws 
were  hard  set.  And  the  pallor  of  his  skin  was  plainly 
visible  through  the  rich  tanning  of  his  face. 

"  Well  ?  " 

The  monosyllable  was  jerked  out  through  clenched 
teeth,  and  had  something  of  defiance  in  it.  Peter  fum- 
bled. 

"  I'm  glad  you  came  in,"  he  said,  a  little  helplessly. 

The  reply  he  received  was  a  laugh  so  harsh,  so  bitter, 
that  the  other  was  startled.  It  was  the  laugh  of  a  beaten 


A  Wedding- Day  in  Barnriff  131 

man  who  strives  vainly  to  hide  his  hurt.  It  was  an  ex- 
pression of  tense  nerves,  and  told  of  the  agony  of  a  heart 
laboring  under  its  insufferable  burden.  It  was  the  sign 
of  a  man  driven  to  the  extremity  of  endurance,  telling, 
only  too  surely,  of  the  thousand  and  one  dangers 
threatening  him.  Peter  understood,  and  his  own  manner 
steadied  into  that  calm  strength  which  was  so  much  the 
man's  real  personality. 

11  I  was  just  going  over  to  my  shack,"  he  said.  "  You'd 
best  walk  your  horse  over." 

Jim  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  getting  back  right  away." 

"  Well,  I  won't  press  you,"  Peter  went  on,  his  mild 
eyes  glancing  swiftly  at  the  door  of  the  Mission  Room, 
where  the  villagers  were  scrambling  out  with  a  great 
chattering  and  bustle.  "  Just  bring  your  plug  out  of  the 
crowd,  Jim,"  he  went  on.  "  I'd  like  a  word  before  you 
go."  Without  waiting  for  his  friend's  consent,  he  took 
the  horse's  bridle  and  led  the  animal  on  one  side.  And, 
oddly  enough,  his  direction  was  toward  the  Mission 
Room  door.  Jim  submitted  without  much  patience. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  demanded,  as  they  halted  within 
three  yards  of  the  door.  "  Guess  I  haven't  a  heap  of  time. 
McLagan's  busy  breaking  horses,  and  he  told  me  to  get 
right  out  after  the — ceremony." 

"  Sure,"  nodded  Peter,  "  I  won't  keep  you  long.  I'd 
heard  there  was  breaking  on  the  «  AZ's.'  That's  just  it. 
Now,  I'm  looking  for  a  couple  of  plugs.  One  for  saddle, 
and  the  other  to  carry  a  pack.  You  see,  I've  struck 
color  in  a  curious  place,  and  it  promises  good.  But  it's 
away  off,  near  twenty  miles  in  the  foot-hills.  It's  an  out- 
crop I've  been  tracing  for  quite  a  while,  and  if  my  cal- 


132  The  One- Way  Trail 

culations  are  right,  the  reef  comes  right  along  down  here 
through  Barnriff.  You  see,  I've  been  working  on  those 
old  Indian  stories." 

He  paused,  and  his  quick  eyes  saw  that  the  crowd  was 
lining  the  doorway  waiting  for  Eve  and  her  husband  to 
come  out.  Jim  was  interested  in  his  tale  in  spite  of  him- 
self, yet  fidgeting  to  get  away. 

«  Well  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Well,  I  need  two  horses  to  carry  myself  and  camp 

outfit.  And Say,  here's  Eve,"  he  cried,  his  large 

hand  suddenly  gripping  Jim's  arm  and  detaining  him. 
The  ranchman  shook  him  off  and  made  to  mount  his 
horse.  But  Peter  had  no  idea  of  letting  him  go. 

"  Jim,"  he  said  in  a  tone  for  the  man's  ear  alone,  "  you 
can't  go  yet.  You  can't  push  a  horse  through  the  crowd 
till  she's  gone.  Say,  boy — you  can't  go.  Here  she  is. 
Just  look  at  her.  Look  at  her  sweet,  smiling  eyes.  Jim, 
look.  That  gal's  real  happy — now.  Jim,  there  ain't 
much  happiness  in  this  world.  We're  all  chasing  it.  You 
and  me,  too — and  we  don't  often  find  it.  Say,  boy,  you 
don't  grudge  her  her  bit,  do  you?  You'd  rather  see  her 
happy,  if  it  ain't  with  you,  wouldn't  you  ?  Ah,  look  at 
those  eyes.  She's  seen  us,  you  and  me.  That's  me 
being  such  a  lumbering  feller.  And  she's  coming  over  to 
us  ;  Will,  too."  His  grip  on  the  man's  arm  tightened, 
and  his  voice  dropped  to  a  low  whisper.  "  Jim,  you 
can't  go,  now.  You've  got  to  speak  to  her.  You're  a 
man,  a  real  live  man ;  get  a  grip  on  that — and  don't 
forget." 

Then  he  released  his  hold,  and  Eve  and  Will  came  up. 
Eve's  radiant  eyes  smiled  on  him,  but  passed  at  once  to 
Jim.  And  she  left  Will's  arm  to  move  nearer  to  him. 


A  Wedding-Day  in  Barnriff  133 

Peter's  eyes  were  on  the  darkening  brows  of  her  husband, 
and  the  moment  Eve's  hand  slipped  from  his  arm,  he 
gave  the  latter  no  choice  but  to  speak  to  him.  He  began 
at  once,  and  with  ail  his  resource  held  him  talking,  while 
Eve  demanded  Jim's  congratulations. 

44  Jim,"  she  said, "  I  haven't  seen  you  since — since " 

44  No,  Eve."  Then  the  man  cleared  his  throat.  It  was 
parching,  and  he  felt  that  words  were  impossible.  What 
trick  was  this  Peter  had  played  on  him  ?  He  longed  to 
flee,  yet  in  the  face  of  all  that  crowd  he  could  not.  He 
knew  he  must  smile,  and  with  all  the  power  of  his  body 
he  set  himself  to  the  task. 

"  You  see  we've  been  up  to  our  necks  in  work.  I — I 
just  snatched  the  morning  to  see  you — you  married." 

44  And  no  congratulations  ?  Oh,  Jim  !  And  I've  al- 
ways looked  on  you  and  Peter  as — as  my  best  friends." 

Every  word  she  uttered  struck  home  through  the  worn 
armor  of  his  restraint.  He  longed  madly  to  seize  this 
woman  in  his  arms  and  tear  her  from  the  side  of  his  rival. 
The  madness  of  his  love  cried  out  to  him,  and  sent  the 
blood  surging  to  his  brain.  But  he  fought — fought  him- 
self with  almost  demoniac  fury,  and  won. 

44  Eve,"  he  said,  with  an  intensity  that  must  have  struck 
her  had  she  not  been  so  exalted  by  her  own  emotions, 
••  I  wish  you  the  greatest  happiness  that  ever  fell  to  a 
woman's  lot.  1  hope,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  this 
world'll  give  you  everything  you  most  wish  for.  And, 
further,  you  are  right  to  reckon  Peter  and  me  your  best 
friends.  As  a  favor,  I  ask  you  that  whenever  our 
friendship  can  be  of  service  to  you  you'll  call  upon  it 
Good-bye  and — bless  you." 

He  had  his  reward,  if  reward  it  could  be  called.     Eve 


134  The  One- Way  Trail 

thrust  out  one  white-gloved  hand  and  seized  his,  squeez- 
ing it  with  a  gentle  pressure  that  set  his  blood  throbbing 
through  his  veins  afresh. 

Then  the  agony  passed,  and  left  him  cold.  The  warm 
hand  was  withdrawn,  and  the  girl  turned  back  to  her  hus- 
band. Peter  relinquished  his  ward.  The  big  man's  end 
had  been  accomplished.  As  husband  and  wife  walked 
away,  and  the  crowd  dispersed,  he  turned  to  Jim,  who 
stood  gazing  straight  in  front  of  him.  He  looked  into  his 
face,  and  the  smile  in  his  eyes  disappeared.  The  expression 
of  Jim's  face  had  changed,  and  where  before  storm  had 
raged  in  every  pulse,  now  there  was  a  growing  peace. 

"  Jim,"  he  said  gently,  "  about  those  horses " 

"  Guess  you  won't  need  them  now  ?  " 

Thorpe  looked  up  into  the  grizzled  face  with  a  half 
ironical  smile,  but  without  displeasure. 

"  Peter,  you  had  me  beat  from  the  start." 

But  Peter  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  you  who've  won  to-day,  boy.  Guess  you've  beat 
the  devil  in  you  to  a  hash.  Yes ;  I  need  those  horses,  an* 
you  can  get  'em  for  me  from  McLagan." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   QUEST   OF   PETER   BLUNT 

THE  crisp  air  of  summer  early  morning,  so  fragrant,  so 
invigorating,  eddied  across  the  plains,  wafting  new  life  to 
the  lungs,  and  increased  vigor  to  jaded  muscles.  The  sun 
was  lifting  above  the  horizon,  bringing  with  it  that  expan- 
sion to  the  mind  which  only  those  whose  lives  are  passed 
in  the  open,  and  whose  waking  hours  are  such  as  Nature 
intended,  may  know. 

The  rustling  grass,  long,  lean  at  the  waving  tops,  but 
rich  and  succulent  in  its  undergrowth,  spoke  of  awaken- 
ing life,  obeying  that  law  which  man,  in  his  superiority, 
sets  aside  to  suit  his  own  artificial  pleasures.  The  spar- 
kling morning  haze  shrouding  the  foot-hills  was  lifting, 
yielding  a  vision  of  natural  beauty  unsurpassed  at  any 
other  time  of  the  day.  The  earth  was  good — it  was 
clean,  wholesome,  purified  by  the  long  restful  hours  of 
night,  and  ready  to  yield,  as  ever,  those  benefits  to  animal 
life  which  Nature  so  generously  showers  upon  an  un- 
grateful world. 

Peter  Blunt  straightened  up  from  his  camp-fire  which 
he  had  just  set  going.  He  stretched  his  great  frame  and 
drank  in  the  nectar  of  the  air  in  deep  gulps.  The  impish 
figure  of  Elia  sat  on  a  box  to  windward  of  the  fire,  watch- 
ing his  companion  with  calm  eyes.  He  was  enjoying 
himself  as  he  had  rarely  ever  enjoyed  himself.  He  was 


136  The  One-Way  Trail 

free  from  the  trammels  of  his  sister's  loving,  guiding  hand 
— trammels  which  were  ever  irksome  to  him,  and 
which,  somewhere  inside  him,  he  despised  as  a  bondage 
to  which  his  sex  had  no  right  to  submit.  He  was  with 
his  friend  Peter,  helping  him  in  his  never-ending  quest 
for  gold.  Hunting  for  gold.  It  sounded  good  in  the 
boy's  ears.  Gold.  Everybody  dreamed  of  gold  ;  every- 
body sought  it — even  his  sister.  But  this — this  was  a 
new  life. 

There  were  Peter's  tools,  there  was  their  camp,  there 
was  the  work  in  process.  There  was  his  own  little  A 
tent,  which  Peter  insisted  that  he  should  sleep  in,  while, 
for  himself,  he  required  only  the  starry  sky  as  a  roofing, 
and  good  thick  blankets,  to  prevent  the  heat  going  out 
of  his  body  while  he  slept.  Yes ;  the  boy  was  happy  in 
his  own  curious  way.  He  was  living  on  "sow-belly" 
and  "  hardtack,"  and  extras  in  the  way  of  "  canned  truck," 
and  none  of  the  good  things  which  his  sister  had  ever 
made  for  him  had  tasted  half  so  sweet  as  the  rough  cook- 
ing of  this  wholesome  food  by  Peter.  Something  like 
happiness  was  his  just  now  ;  but  he  regretted  that  it 
could  only  last  until  his  sister  returned  to  Barnrirf.  The 
boy's  interest  in  the  coming  day's  work  now  inspired 
his  words. 

"  We  go  on  with  this  sinking?  "  he  inquired  ;  and  there 
was  a  boyish  pride  in  the  use  of  the  plural. 

Peter  nodded.  His  eyes  were  watching  the  fire,  to  see 
that  it  played  no  trick  on  him. 

"  Yep,  laddie,"  he  said,  in  his  kindly  way.  "  We've 
got  a  bully  prospect  here.  We'll  see  it  through  after 
we've  had  breakfast.  Sleepy  ?  " 

Elia  returned  him  an  unsmiling  negative.     Smiling  was 


The  Quest  of  Peter  Blunt  137 

apparently  unnatural  to  him.  The  lack  of  it  and  the  lack 
of  expression  in  his  eyes,  except  when  stirred  by  terror, 
showed  something  of  the  warp  of  his  mind. 

"  You  aren't  damp,  or — or  anything  ?  There's  a  heap 
of  dew  around."  The  man  was  throwing  strips  of  "  sow- 
belly "  into  the  pan,  and  the  coffee  water  was  already  set 
upon  the  flaming  wood. 

"  You  needn't  to  worry  'bout  them  things  for  me,  Peter/' 
Elia  declared  peevishly.  "  Wimmin  folks  are  like  that, 
an'  it  sure  makes  me  sick." 

The  other  laughed  good-naturedly  as  he  took  a  couple 
of  handfuls  of  the  "  hardtack  "  out  of  a  sack. 

11  You'd  be  a  man  only  they  won't  let  you,  eh  ?  You've 
the  grit,  laddie,  there's  no  denying." 

The  boy  felt  pleased.  Peter  understood  him.  He  liked 
Peter,  only  sometimes  he  wished  the  man  wasn't  so  big 
and  strong.  Why  wasn't  he  hump-backed  with  a  bent 
neck  and  a  "  game "  leg  ?  Why  wasn't  he  afraid  of 
things  ?  Then  he  never  remembered  seeing  Peter  hurt 
anything,  and  he  loved  to  hurt.  He  felt  as  if  he'd  like  to 
thrust  a  burning  brand  on  Peter's  hand  while  he  was 
cooking,  and  see  if  he  was  afraid  of  the  hurt,  the  same  as 
he  would  be.  Then  his  mind  came  back  to  things  of  the 
moment.  This  gold  prospecting  interested  him  more 
than  anything  else. 

"  How  far  are  we  from  Barnriff?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  Twenty  odd  miles  west.     Why  ?  " 

"  I  was  kind  o'  wonderin'.  Seems  we've  been  headin' 
clear  thro'  fer  Barnriff  since  we  started  from  way  back 
there  on  the  head  waters.  We  sunk  nine  holes,  hain't 
we  ?  Say,  if  we  keep  right  on  we'll  hit  Barnriff  on  this 
line?" 


138  The  One- Way  Trail 

fl  Sure."  The  man's  blue  eyes  were  watching  the  boy's 
face  interestedly. 

"  You  found  the  color  o'  gold,  an'  the  ledge  o'  quartz 
in  each  o'  them  holes,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"  Yep." 

"  Well,  if  we  keep  on,  an'  we  find  right  along,  we're 
goin'  to  find  some  around  Barnriff." 

"  Good,  laddie,"  Peter  replied,  approving  his  obvious 
reasoning.  "  I'm  working  on  those  old  Indian  yarns,  and, 
according  to  them,  Barnriff  must  be  set  right  on  a  mighty 
rich  gold  mine." 

The  calm  eyes  of  the  boy  brightened.  Barnriff  on  a 
gold  mine ! 

"  An'  when  you  find  it?" 

Peter's  eyes  dropped  before  the  other's  inquiring  gaze. 
That  was  the  question  always  before  him,  but  it  did  not 
apply  to  material  gold.  And  when  he  should  find  it, 
what  then?  Simply  his  quest  would  have  closed  at 
another  chapter.  His  work  for  the  moment  would  be 
finished ;  and  he  would  once  more  have  to  set  out  on  a 
fresh  quest  to  appease  his  restless  soul.  He  shook  his 
head. 

"  We  haven't  found  it  yet,"  he  said. 

"  But  when  you  do  ?  "  the  boy  persisted. 

Peter  handed  him  his  plate  and  his  coffee,  and  sat  down 
to  his  own  breakfast.  But  the  boy  insisted  on  an  answer. 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  Well,  laddie,  it's  kind  of  tough  answering  that.  I 
can't  rightly  tell  you." 

"  But  a  gold  mine.  Gee  !  You'll  be  like  a  Noo  York 
millionaire,  with  dollars  an'  dollars  to  blow  in  at  the 
saloon." 


The  Quest  of  Peter  Blunt  139 

Again  Peter  shook  his  head.  His  face  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  grown  old.  His  eyes  seemed  to  lack  their  wonted 
lustre.  He  sighed. 

"  I  don't  want  the  dollars/'  he  said.  "  I've  got  dollars 
enough  ;  so  many  that  I  hate  'em." 

Elia  gaped  at  him. 

11  You  got  dollars  in  heaps  ?  "  he  almost  gasped.  ««  Then 
why  are  you  lookin'  for  more  ?  " 

Peter  buried  his  face  in  a  large  pannikin  of  coffee,  and 
when  it  emerged  the  questioning  eyes  were  still  upon  him. 

"  Folks  guess  you're  cranked  on  gold,  an'  need  it  bad," 
the  puzzled  boy  went  on.  "  They  reckon  you're  foolish, 
too,  allus  lookin'  around  where  you  don't  need,  'cause 
there  ain't  any  there.  I've  heerd  fellers  say  you're 
crazy." 

Peter  laughed  right  out. 

"  Maybe  they're  right,"  he  said,  lighting  his  pipe. 

But  Elia  shook  his  head  shrewdly. 

"  You  ain't  crazy.  I'd  sure  know  it.  Same  as  I  know 
when  a  feller's  bad — like  Will  Henderson.  But  say, 
Peter,"  he  went  on  persuasively,  "  I'd  be  real  glad  fer  you 
to  tell  me  'bout  that  gold.  What  you'd  do,  an'  why  ?  I'm 
real  quick  understanding  things.  It  kind  o'  seems  to  me 
you're  good.  You  don't  never  scare  me  like  most  folks. 
I  can't  see  right  why " 

"  Here,  laddie  " — Peter  leaned  his  head  back  on  his  two 
locked  hands,  and  propped  himself  against  the  pack 
saddle — "  don't  you  worry  your  head  with  those  things. 
But  I'll  tell  you  something,  if  you're  quick  understanding. 
Maybe,  if  other  folks  heard  it — grown  folks — they'd  sure 
say  I  was  crazy.  But  you're  right,  I'm  not  crazy,  only — 
only  maybe  tired  of  things  a  bit.  It's  not  gold  I'm  look- 


140  The  One- Way  Trail 

ing  for — that  is,  in  a  way.  I'm  looking  for  something 
that  all  the  gold  in  the  world  can't  buy." 

His  tone  became  reflective.  He  was  talking  to  the 
boy,  but  his  thoughts  seemed  suddenly  to  have  drifted 
miles  away,  lost  in  a  contemplation  of  something  which 
belonged  to  the  soul  in  him  alone.  He  was  like  a  man 
who  sees  a  picture  in  his  mind  which  absorbs  his  whole 
attention,  and  drifts  him  into  channels  of  thought  which 
belong  to  his  solitary  moments. 

"  I'm  looking  for  it  day  in  day  out,  weeks  and  years. 
Sometimes  I  think  I  find  it,  and  then  it's  gone  again. 
Sometimes  I  think  it  don't  exist ;  then  again  I'm  sure  it 
does.  Yes,  there' ve  been  moments  when  I  know  I've 
found  it,  but  it  gets  out  of  my  hand  so  quick  I  can't 
rightly  believe  I've  ever  had  it.  I  go  on  looking,  on  and 
on,  and  I'll  go  on  to  my  dying  day,  I  s'pose.  Other  folks 
are  doing  much  the  same,  I  guess,  but  they  don't  know 
they're  doing  it,  and  they're  the  luckier  for  it.  What's 
the  use,  anyway — and  yet,  I  s'pose,  we  must  all  work  out 
our  little  share  in  the  scheme  of  things.  Seems  to  me 
we've  all  got  our  little  '  piece '  to  say,  all  got  our  little  bit 
to  do.  And  we've  just  got  to  go  on  doing  it  to  the  end. 
Sometimes  it's  hard,  sometimes  it's  so  mighty  easy  it  sets 
you  wondering.  Ah,  psha  !  " 

Then  he  roused  out  of  his  mood,  and  addressed  himself 
more  definitely  to  the  boy. 

"  You  see,  laddie,  I  don't  belong  to  this  country.  But 
I  stay  right  here  till  I've  searched  all  I  know,  and  so  done 
my  '  piece/  Then  I'll  up  stakes  and  move  on.  You  see, 
it's  no  use  going  back  where  I  belong,  because  what  I'm 
looking  for  don't  exist  there.  Maybe  I'll  never  find  what 
I'm  looking  for — that  is  to  keep  and  hold  it.  Maybe,  as 


The  Quest  of  Peter  Blunt  14' 

I  say,  I'll  get  it  in  driblets,  and  it'll  fly  away  again.  It 
don't  much  matter.  Meanwhile  I  find  gold — in  those 
places  folks  don't  guess  it's  any  use  looking.  Do  you  get 
my  meaning  ?  " 

The  quizzical  smile  that  accompanied  his  final  question 
was  very  gentle,  and  revealed  something  of  the  soul  of  the 
man. 

Eiia  didn't  answer  for  some  moments.  He  was  trying 
to  straighten  out  the  threads  of  light  which  his  twisted 
mind  perceived.  Finally  he  shook  his  head.  And  when 
he  spoke  his  words  showed  only  too  plainly  how  little  he 
was  interested  in  the  other's  meaning,  and  how  much  his 
cupidity  was  stirred. 

"And  that  gold — in  Barnriff  ?  When  you've  found 
it?" 

Peter  laughed  to  think  that  he  had  expected  the  boy 
to  understand  him.  How  could  he — at  his  age? 

"  I'll  give  it  to  you,  laddie — ail  of  it." 

«  Gee !  " 

Elia's  cold  eyes  lit  with  sudden  greed. 

"  But  you'd  best  say  nothing  to  the  folks,"  Peter  added 
slyly.  "  Don't  let  'em  know  we're  looking  for  any- 
thing." 

"  Sure,"  cried  the  boy  quickly,  with  a  cunning  painful 
to  behold.  "  They'd  steal  it.  Will  Henderson  would." 

Peter  thought  for  a  moment,  and  relit  his  pipe,  which 
had  gone  out  while  he  was  talking. 

"  You  don't  like  Will,  laddie,"  he  said  presently,  and  so 
blundered  into  the  midst  of  the  boy's  greedy  reverie. 

«•  I  hate  him  !  " 

Any  joy  that  the  thought  of  the  promised  gold  might 
have  given  him  suddenly  died  out  of  the  dwarfs  v'n- 


142  The  One- Way  Trail 

dictive  heart,  and  in  its  place  was  a  raging  storm  of 
hatred.  Such  savage  passion  was  his  dominating  feature. 
At  the  best  there  was  little  that  was  gentle  in  him. 

"You  hate  him  because  of  that  night — about  the 
chickens  ?  " 

But  no  answer  was  forthcoming.  Peter  waited,  and 
then  went  on. 

"  There's  something  else,  eh  ?  " 

But  the  eyes  of  the  boy  were  fixed  upon  the  now 
smouldering  fire,  nor  could  the  other  draw  them.  So  he 
went  on. 

"  Will's  your  sister's  husband  now.  Sort  of  your — 
brother.  Your  sister's  been  desperate  good  to  you. 
YouVe  had  everything  she  could  give  you,  and  mind, 
she's  had  to  work  for  it — hard.  She  loves  you  so  bad, 
she'd  hate  to  see  you  hurt  your  little  finger — she's  mighty 
good  to  you.  Gee,  I  wish  I  had  such  a  sister.  Well, 
now  she's  got  a  husband,  and  she  loves  him  bad,  too.  I 
was  wondering  if  you'd  ever  thought  how  bad  she'd  feel 
if  she  knew  you  two  were  at  loggerheads  ?  You've 
never  thought,  have  you  ?  Say,  laddie,  it  would  break 
her  up  the  back.  It  would  surely.  She'd  feel  she'd  done 
you  a  harm — and  that  in  itself  is  sufficient — and  she'd 
feel  she  was  upsetting  Will.  And  between  the  two  she'd 
be  most  unhappy.  Say,  can't  you  like  him?  Can't  you 
make  up  your  mind  to  get  on  with  him  right  when  he 
comes  back  ?  Can't  you,  laddie  ?  " 

The  boy's  eyes  suddenly  lifted  from  the  fire,  and  the 
storm  was  still  in  them. 

" I  hate  him  !  "  he  snarled  like  a  fierce  beast. 

"  I'm  sorry — real  sorry ." 

"  Don't  you  go  fer  to  be  sorry/'  cried  the  boy,,  with 


The  Quest  of  Peter  Blunt  143 

that  strange  quickening  of  all  that  was  evil  in  him.  "  I 
tell  you  Will's  bad.  He's  bad,  an'  he  sure  don't  need  to 
be,  'cause  it's  in  him  to  be  good.  He  ain't  like  me,  I 
guess.  I'm  bad  'cause  I'm  made  bad.  I  don't  never 
think  good.  I  can't.  I  hate — hate — allus  hate.  That's 
how  I'm  made,  see?  Will  ain't  like  that.  He's  made 
good,  but  he's  bad  because  he'd  rather  be  bad.  He's 
married  my  sister  because  she's  a  fool,  an'  can't  see  where 
Jim  Thorpe's  a  better  man.  Jim  Thorpe  wanted  to 
marry  her.  He  never  said,  but  I  can  see.  An'  she'd 
have  married  him,  on'y  fer  Will  comin'  along.  She  was 
kind  o'  struck  on  Jim  like,  an'  then  Will  butts  in,  an'  he's 
younger,  an'  better  lookin',  an'  so  she  marries  him.  An' 
— an'  I  hate  him  !  " 

"  But  your  sister  ?  What's  poor  Eve  going  to  do  with 
you  always  hating  Will  ?  She'll  get  no  happiness,  lad- 
die, and  you'd  rather  see  her  happy.  Say,  if  you  can't 
help  hating  Will,  sure  you  can  hide  it.  You  needn't  to 
run  foul  of  him.  You  go  your  way,  and  he  can  go  his. 
Do  you  know  I'm  pretty  sure  he'll  try  and  do  right  by 
you,  because  of  Eve  — " 

"  Say,  Peter,  you're  foolish."  The  boy  had  calmed, 
and  now  spoke  with  a  shrewd  decision  that  was  curiously 
convincing.  "  Will  '11  go  his  way,  and  Eve  won't  figger 
wuth  a  cent  with  him.  I  know.  Eve  "11  jest  have  to  git 
her  toes  right  on  the  mark,  same  as  me.  He's  a  devil, 
and  I  know.  Will  '11  make  Eve  hate  herself,  same  as 
he'll  make  me.  Say,  an'  I'll  tell  you  this,  Eve  '11  hev  to 
work  for  him  as  well  as  me.  I  know.  I  can  see.  You 
can't  tell  me  of  Will,  nor  of  nobody  that's  bad — 'cause  I 
ken  see  into  'em.  I'm  bad,  an'  I  ken  see  into  folks  who 
're  bad." 


144  The  One- Way  Trail 

There  was  no  argument  against  such  an  attitude  as  the 
boy  took.  Besides,  Peter  began  to  understand.  Here 
was  an  unique  study  in  psychology.  The  boy  either 
fancied  he  possessed — or  did  possess — such  unusual 
powers  of  observation  that  they  almost  amounted  to  the 
prophetic,  where  that  which  was  bad  was  concerned.  He 
saw  Will  in  a  light  in  which  no  one  else  saw  him, 
although  already  he,  Peter,  and  Jim  had  witnessed  un- 
pleasant dashes  of  that  side  of  the  man's  character  which 
Elia  seemed  to  read  like  an  open  book.  However,  he 
could  not  abandon  his  task  yet,  but  he  changed  his 
tactics. 

"  Maybe  you're  right,  laddie,"  he  said.  "  I  was  think- 
ing of  poor  Eve.  I  was  wondering  if  you  wouldn't  like 
to  try  and  make  her  happy,  seeing  she's  always  been  so 
good  to  you.  I  do  believe  you'd  rather  she  was  happy." 

The  boy  nodded  his  head,  and  an  impish  light  crept 
into  his  eyes. 

"  And  you're  going  to  try  and  make  her — happy  ?  " 

Peter  was  smiling  with  simple  eager  hope.  The  imp- 
ish  light  deepened  in  the  boy's  eyes. 

"  Maybe,"  he  said.  "  Guess  I'll  do  what  I  ken.  When 
Will  treats  me  fair  I'll  treat  him  fair.  I  can't  do  a  heap 
of  work,  seein'  I'm  as  I  am,  but  if  he  wants  me  to  do 
things  I'll  do  'em — if  he  treats  me  fair.  I'll  do  what  I 
ken,  but  I  hate  him.  Maybe  you're  guessin*  that'll  be 
makin'  things  fair  for  Eve.  You  best  guess  agin."  Then 
the  impish  light  left  his  eyes,  and  they  became  quite 
serious  again.  "  Say,  tell  me  some  more  'bout  that 
gold  ?  " 

But  Peter  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Time  enough,  laddie,"  he  said,  pleased  with  the  re- 


The  Quest  of  Peter  Blunt  145 

suit  of  his  first  essay  on  behalf  of  peace  between  Elia  and 
Will.  "  You're  going  to  get  that  gold  when  we  find  it, 
sure,  so  come  right  along  and  let's  get  to  work — and 
find  it" 


CHAPTER  XIH 

AFTER  ONE  YEAR 

SCANDAL  was  rampant  in  Barnriff.  But  it  was  not  of 
an  open  nature.  That  is  to  say,  it  was  scandal  that 
passed  surreptitiously  from  lip  to  lip,  and  was  rarely 
spoken  where  more  than  two  people  foregathered.  For 
small  as  Barnriff  was,  ignorant  as  were  the  majority  of  its 
people,  scandal  was  generally  tabooed,  and  it  was  only  in 
bad  cases  where  it  was  allowed  to  riot. 

The  reason  of  this  restraint  was  simple  enough.  It 
was  not  that  the  people  of  the  village  were  any  different 
to  those  of  other  small  places.  They  loved  gossip  as 
dearly  as  anybody  else — when  to  gossip  was  safe.  But 
years  ago  Barnriff  had  learned  that  gossip  was  not  always 
safe  in  its  midst. 

The  fact  was  that  the  peace  laws  of  the  place  were 
largely  enforced  by  a  process  which  might  be  called  the 
"  survival  of  the  strong."  There  were  no  duly  authorized 
peace  officers,  and  the  process  had  evolved  out  of  this 
condition  of  things.  Quarrels  and  bloodshed  were  by  no 
means  frequent  in  the  village,  rather  the  reverse,  and  this 
was  due  to  the  regulations  governing  peace. 

If  two  men  quarreled  it  was  on  the  full  understanding 
of  the  possible  and  probable  consequences  ;  namely,  a 
brief  and  effective  life  and  death  struggle,  followed  by  a 
sudden  and  immediate  departure  from  the  fold  of  the 
survivor.  Hence,  scandal  was  held  in  close  check,  and 
traveled  slowly,  with  the  slow  twistings  and  windings 


After  One  Year  147 

of  a  venemous  snake.  But  for  this  very  reason  it  was  the 
more  deadly,  and  was  the  more  surely  based  upon  unde- 
niable fact.  The  place  was  just  now  a-simmer  with  sup- 
pressed scandal. 

And  its  object.  It  was  only  a  year  since  Eve  and 
Will  Henderson's  marriage.  A  sufficiently  right  and 
proper  affair,  said  public  opinion.  There  were  of  course 
protestors.  Many  of  the  women  had  expected  Eve  to 
marry  Jim  Thorpe.  But  then  they  were  of  the  more 
mature  section  of  the  population,  those  whose  own 
marriages  had  taught  them  worldly  wisdom,  and  blotted 
out  the  early  romance  of  their  youths.  It  had  been  a  love 
match,  a  match  where  youth  runs  riot,  and  the  madness 
of  it  sweeps  its  victims  along  upon  its  hot  tide.  Now  the 
tide  was  cooling,  some  said  it  was  already  coid. 

After  their  brief  honeymoon  the  young  people  had 
returned  to  the  village.  The  understanding  was  that  Eve 
should  again  take  up  her  business,  while  Will  continued 
his  season  up  in  the  hills,  hunting  with  his  traps  and  gun. 
He  was  to  visit  Barnriff  at  intervals  during  the  season, 
and  finally  return  and  stay  with  Eve  during  the  months 
when  the  furs  he  might  take  would  be  unfit  for  the 
market.  This  was  the  understanding,  and  in  theory  it 
was  good,  and  might  well  have  been  carried  out  satisfac- 
torily. All  went  passably  well  until  the  close  of  the 
fur  season. 

Eve  returned  to  the  village  a  bright  and  happy  woman. 
She  took  up  her  business  again,  and,  perhaps,  the  novelty 
of  her  married  state  was  the  reason  that  at  first  her  trade 
increased.  Then  came  Will's  visits.  At  first  they  were 
infrequent,  with  the  arranged-for  laps  of  time  between 
them.  But  gradually  they  became  more  frequent  and 


148  The  One- Way  Trail 

their  duration  longer.  The  women  wagged  their  heads. 
"  He  is  so  deeply  in  love,  he  can't  stay  away,"  they  said. 
And  they  smiled  approval,  for  they  were  women,  and 
women  can  never  look  on  unmoved  at  the  sight  of  a 
happy  love  match.  But  against  this  the  men  shrugged 
their  shoulders.  "  He's  wastin'  a  heap  o'  time,"  they 
said ;  "  pelts  needs  chasin'  some,  an'  y'  can't  chase  pelts 
an'  make  love  to  your  own  wife  or  any  one  else's,  for  that 
matter."  And  this  was  their  way  of  expressing  a  kindly 
interest. 

The  men  were  right  and  the  women  were  wrong. 
Will  did  more  than  waste  time.  He  literally  pitched  it 
away.  He  prolonged  his  stays  in  the  village  beyond  all 
reason,  and  as  Eve,  dutifully  engaged  upon  her  business, 
could  not  give  him  any  of  her  working  hours,  he  was 
forced  to  seek  his  pleasures  elsewhere.  That  elsewhere, 
in  a  man  prone  to  drink,  of  necessity  became  the  saloon. 
And  the  saloon  meant  gambling,  gambling  meant  money. 
Sometimes  he  won  a  little,  but  more  often  he  lost. 

Being  a  reckless  player,  fired  by  the  false  stimulation 
of  Rocket's  bad  whiskey,  he  began  to  plunge  to  recoup 
himself,  and,  as  ever  happens  in  such  circumstances,  he 
got  deeper  into  the  mire.  At  first  these  heavy  losses  had 
a  salutary  effect  upon  him,  and  he  would  "  hit  the  trail " 
for  the  hills,  and  once  more  ply  his  trade  with  a  feverish 
zest. 

This  sort  of  thing  went  on  until  the  close  of  his  fur 
season.  Then  he  made  up  his  bales  of  pelts,  and,  to  his 
horror,  discovered  that  his  year's  "  catch  "  was  reduced 
by  over  fifty  per  cent,  while,  in  place  of  a  wad  of  good 
United  States  currency  in  his  hip  pocket,  he  had  floated 
a  perfect  fleet  of  I.  O.  U.'s,  each  in  itself  for  a  compara- 


After  One  Year  149 

lively  small  amount,  but  collectively  a  total  of  no  incon- 
siderable magnitude.  And  each  I.  O.  U.  was  dated  for 
payment  immediately  after  he  had  marketed  his  pelts. 

This  stress,  and  the  life  he  had  been  living  in  Barnriff, 
caused  his  mercurial  temper  to  suffer.  And  as  his  nature 
soured,  so  all  that  was  worst  in  him  began  to  rise  to  the 
surface.  He  did  not  blame  himself.  Did  ever  one  hear 
of  a  man  blaming  himself  when  things  went  wrong  ?  No. 
He  blamed  the  fur  season.  The  hills  were  getting  played 
out.  The  furs  were  traveling  north,  and,  in  consequence 
were  scarce.  Besides,  how  could  he  be  in  Barnriff  and 
the  hills  at  the  same  time  ?  The  position  was  absurd. 
Eve  must  join  him  and  give  up  her  business,  and  they 
must  make  their  home  up  in  the  hills  where  she  could 
learn  to  trap.  Or  they  must  live  in  Barnriff  and  he  must 
find  fresh  employment. 

Yes,  he  would  certainly  find  out  how  Eve's  business 
was  prospering.  If  she  had  shown  a  better  turnover  than 
he,  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  for  him  to  go  into  Barnriff 
for  good.  The  idea  rather  pleased  him.  Nor  could  he 
see  any  drawback  to  it  except  those  confounded  I.  O.  U.'s. 

The  next  news  that  Barnriff  had  was  that  Will  and 
Eve  were  settled  for  good  in  the  village,  and  that  he  had 
no  intention  of  returning  to  the  hills.  Barnriff 's  comment 
was  mixed.  The  women  said,  "  Poor  dears,  they  can't 
live  apart."  Again  the  men  disagreed.  Their  charity 
was  less  kind,  especially  amongst  those  who  had  yet  to 
collect  the  payment  of  their  I.  O.  U.'s.  They  said  with 
a  sarcastic  smile,  "  Wants  to  live  on  his  woman,  and  play 
'  draw.'  "  And  time  soon  showed  them  to  be  somewhere 
near  the  mark. 

Will  sold  his  furs,  paid  his  debts,  sighed  his  relief,  and 


150  The  One- Way  Trail 

settled  down  to  a  life  in  Barnriff.  A  month  later  he  found 
to  his  profound  chagrin  that  the  small  margin  of  dollars 
left  over  after  paying  off  his  I.  O.  U.'s  had  vanished,  and 
a  fresh  crop  of  paper  was  beginning  to  circulate.  Whiskey 
and  "  draw  "  had  got  into  his  blood,  and  all  unconsciously 
he  found  himself  pledged  to  it. 

It  was  during  this  time  that  scandal  definitely  laid  its 
clutch  upon  the  village.  But  it  was  not  until  later  that 
its  forked  tongue  grew  vicious.  It  was  at  the  time  that 
word  got  round  the  village  that  there  was  trouble  in  Eve's 
little  home  that  the  caldron  began  to  seethe.  No  one  knew 
how  it  got  round  ;  yet  it  surely  did.  Scandal  said  that 
Eve  and  Will  quarreled,  that  they  quarreled  violently, 
that  Will  had  struck  her,  that  money  was  the  bottom  of 
the  trouble,  that  Will  had  none  to  meet  his  gambling 
debts,  and  that  Eve,  who  had  been  steadily  supplying 
him  out  of  her  slender  purse,  had  at  last  refused  to  do  so 
any  more. 

It  went  on  to  say  that  Will  was  a  drunken  sot,  that  his 
methods  at  cards  were  not  above  suspicion,  and  that 
altogether  he  was  rapidly  becoming  an  undesirable. 

Peter  Blunt  heard  the  scandal ;  he  had  watched  things 
himself  very  closely.  Jim  Thorpe  heard,  but,  curiously 
enough,  rumor  about  these  two  did  not  seem  to  reach 
the  "AZ"  ranch  easily. 

However,  what  did  reach  Jim  infuriated  him  almost 
beyond  words.  It  was  this  last  rumor  that  sent  him  rid- 
ing furiously  into  the  village  late  one  night,  and  drew  him 
up  at  Peter  Blunt's  hut. 

He  found  the  gold  seeker  reading  a  well-known  history 
of  the  Peruvian  Aztecs,  but  without  hesitation  broke  in 
upon  his  studies. 


After  One  Year  151 

"  What's  this  I  hear,  Peter  ?  "  he  demanded,  without 
any  preamble.  "  I  mean  about  the — the  Hendersons." 

His  dark  eyes  were  fierce.  His  clean-cut  features  were 
set  and  angry.  But  these  signs  didn't  seem  to  hurry  Peter's 
answer.  He  laid  his  book  aside  and  folded  his  hands  be- 
hind his  head,  while  he  searched  the  other's  face  with  his 
calm  blue  eyes. 

"  We've  just  got  it  out  on  the  ranch,"  Jim  went  on. 
"  He's — he's  knocking  her  about — they  say." 

"  And  so  you've  come  in.     What  for  ?  " 

The  big  man's  words  had  a  calming  effect. 

"  Peter,  can't  you  tell  me  ? "  Jim  went  on,  with  a 
sudden  change  of  manner  that  became  almost  pleading. 
"  It's  awful.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  Eve  suffering.  Is 
it,  as  they  say,  money  ?  Has  he — gone  to  the  dogs  with 
drink  and  gambling  ?  Peter,"  he  said,  with  sudden  stern- 
ness, his  feelings  once  more  getting  the  better  of  him, 
"  I  feel  like  killing  him  if " 

But  the  other's  face  was  cold,  and  he  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  talk  this  scandal,"  he  said.  "  You've 
no  right  to  feel  like  that — yet."  And  his  words  were  an 
admission  of  his  own  feelings  on  the  subject. 

Peter's  eyes  wandered  thoughtfully  from  his  friend  to 
the  book  shelves  ;  and  after  a  moment  the  other  stirred 
impatiently.  Then  his  eyes  came  back  to  Jim's  face.  He 
watched  the  passionate  straining  in  them,  that  told  of  the 
spirit  working  within.  Nor  could  he  help  thinking  what  a 
difference  there  might  have  been  had  Eve  only  married 
this  man. 

"  You  better  go  back  to  the  ranch,"  he  said  presently. 

But  the  light  that  suddenly  leaped  to  Jim's  eyes  gave 
him  his  answer  without  the  words  which  followed  swiftly. 


\$2  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  I  can't/'  he  cried.  "  I  can't  without  seeing  her,  and 
learning  the  truth  from  her  own  lips." 

"  That  you'll  never  do,  boy,  if  I  know  Eve." 

But  Jim  became  obstinate. 

"  I'll  try,"  he  declared,  with  an  ugly  threat  in  his 
passionate  eyes.  "  And  if  it's  Will — if  he's " 

"  You're  talking  foolish."  The  sharpness  of  Peter's 
voice  silenced  him.  But  it  was  only  for  a  moment,  and 
later  he  broke  out  afresh. 

"  It's  no  use,  Peter,  I  can't  and  won't  listen  to  reason  on 
this  matter.  Eve  is  before  all  things  in  my  life.  I  can't 
help  loving  her,  even  if  she  is  another's  wife,  and  I 
wouldn't  if  I  could.  See  here,"  he  went  on,  letting  him- 
self go  as  his  feelings  took  fresh  hold  of  him,  "  if  Eve's 
unhappy  there  must  be  some  way  of  helping  her.  If  he's 
ruining  her  life  he  must  be  dealt  with.  If  he's  brutal  to 
her,  if  he's  hurting  her,  I  mean  knocking  her  about, 
Peter,  I'll — I'll — smash  him,  if  I  swing  for  it !  She's  all 
the  world  to  me,  and  by  Heavens  I'll  rid  her  of  him !  " 

Peter  suddenly  drew  out  his  watch ;  he  seemed  wholly 
indifferent  to  the  other's  storming. 

"  We'll  go  and  see  her  now,"  he  said.  «  Will  '11  be 
down  at  the  saloon  playing  '  draw.'  He  don't  generally 
get  home  till  Rocket  closes  down.  Come  on." 

And  the  two  passed  out  into  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   BREAKING    POINT 

EVE  and  Will  were  at  supper.  The  girl's  brown  eyes 
had  lost  their  old  gentle  smile.  Their  soft  depths  no 
longer  contained  that  well  of  girlish  hope,  that  trusting 
joy  of  life.  It  seemed  as  if  the  curtain  of  romance  had 
been  torn  aside,  and  the  mouldering  skeleton  of  life  had 
been  laid  bare  to  her.  There  was  trouble  and  pain  in 
her  look,  there  was  fear,  too ;  nor  was  it  quite  plain  the 
nature  of  her  fear.  It  may  have  been  that  fear  of  the 
future  which  comes  to  natures  where  love  is  the  main- 
spring of  responsibility.  It  may  have  been  the  fear  of 
the  weaker  vessel,  where  harshness  and  brutality  are 
threatened.  It  may  have  been  a  fear  inspired  by  health 
already  undermined  by  anxiety  and  worry.  The  old 
happy  light  was  utterly  gone  from  her  eyes  as  she  silently 
partook  of  the  frugal  supper  her  own  hands  had  prepared. 

Will  Henderson  moodily  devoured  his  food  at  the  op- 
posite end  of  the  table.  The  third  of  their  household 
was  not  there.  Elia  rarely  took  his  meals  with  them. 
He  preferred  them  by  himself,  for  he  hated  and  dreaded 
Will's  tongue,  which,  though  held  in  some  check  when 
he  was  sober,  never  failed  to  sting  the  boy  when  Silas 
Rocket's  whiskey  had  done  its  work. 

The  meal  was  nearly  finished,  and  husband  and  wife 
had  exchanged  not  a  single  word.  Eve  wished  to  talk  ; 
there  was  so  much  she  wanted  to  say  to  him.  The  flame 
of  her  love  still  burned  in  her  gentle  bosom,  but  it  was  a 


154  The  One- Way  Trail 

flame  sorely  blown  about  by  the  storm  winds  of  their  brief 
married  life.  But  somehow  she  could  not  utter  the  words 
she  wanted  to.  There  was  no  encouragement.  There 
was  a  definite  but  intangible  bar  to  their  expression.  The 
brutal  silence  of  the  man  chilled  her,  and  frightened  her. 

Finally  it  was  he  who  spoke,  and  he  made  some  sort  of 
effort  to  hide  the  determination  lying  behind  his  words. 

"  How  much  money  have  you  got,  Eve  ? "  he  de- 
manded, pushing  his  plate  away  with  a  movement  which 
belied  his  tone.  It  was  a  question  which  had  a  familiar 
ring  to  the  ears  of  the  troubled  girl. 

"  Thirty  dollars,"  she  said  patiently.     Then  she  sighed. 

The  man  promptly  threw  aside  all  further  mask. 

"  For  God's  sake  don't  sigh  like  that !  You'll  be  snivel- 
ing directly.  One  would  think  I  was  doin'  you  an  injury 
asking  you  a  simple  question." 

"  It's  not  that,  Will.  I'm  thinking  of  what's  going  to 
happen  when  that's  gone.  It's  got  to  last  us  a  month. 
Then  I  get  my  money  from  Carrie  Horsley  and  Mrs. 
Crombie.  They  owe  me  seventy  dollars  between  them 
for  their  summer  suits.  I've  got  several  orders,  but  folks 
are  tight  here  for  money,  and  it's  always  a  matter  of 
waiting." 

"  Can't  you  get  an  advance  from  'em  ?  " 

That  frightened  look  suddenly  leaped  again  into  the 
girl's  eyes. 

"Oh,  Will!" 

"  Oh,  don't  start  that  game ! "  the  man  retorted 
savagely.  "  We've  got  to  live,  I  s'pose.  You'll  earn  the 
money.  That  sort  of  thing  is  done  in  every  business. 
You  make  me  sick."  He  lit  his  pipe  and  blew  great 
clouds  of  smoke  across  the  table.  "  I  tell  you  what  it  is, 


The  Breaking  Point  155 

we  can't  afford  to  keep  your  brother  doing  nothing  all 
the  time.  If  you  insist  on  keeping  him  you  must  find 
the  money— somewhere.  It's  no  use  being  proud.  We're 
hard  up,  and  if  people  owe  you  money,  well — dun  'em 
for  it.  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  this  darned  business 
of  yours  seems  to  have  gone  to  pieces." 

"  It's  not  gone  to  pieces,  Will,"  Eve  protested.  "  I've 
made  more  money  this  last  four  months  than  ever  be- 
fore." The  girl's  manner  had  a  patience  in  it  that  came 
from  her  brief  but  bitter  experiences. 

"  Then  what's  become  of  the  money  ?  " 

But  Eve's  patience  had  its  limits.  The  cruel  injustice 
of  his  sneering  question  drove  her  beyond  endurance. 

"  Oh,  Will,"  she  cried,  "  and  you  can  sit  there  and  ask 
such  a  question  !  Where  has  it  gone  ?  "  She  laughed 
without  any  mirth.  "  It's  gone  with  the  rest,  down  at 
the  saloon,  where  you've  gambled  it  away.  It's  gone 
because  I've  been  a  weak  fool  and  listened  to  your  talk 
of  gambling  schemes  which  have  never  once  come  off. 
Oh,  Will,  I  don't  want  to  throw  this  all  up  at  you.  In- 
deed, indeed,  I  don't.  But  you  drive  me  to  it  with  your 
unkindness,  which — which  I  can't  understand.  Don't 
you  see,  dear,  that  I  want  to  make  you  happy,  that  I 
want  to  help  you  ?  You  must  see  it,  and  yet  you  treat 
me  worse — oh,  worse  than  a  nigger  !  Why  is  it?  What 
have  I  done  ?  God  knows  you  can  have  all,  everything 
I  possess  in  the  world.  I  would  do  anything  for  you, 
but — but — you  —  Sometimes  I  think  you  have  learned 
to  hate  me.  Sometimes  I  think  the  very  sight  of  me 
rouses  all  that  is  worst  in  you.  What  is  it,  dear  ?  What 
is  it  that  has  come  between  us  ?  What  have  I  done  to 
make  you  like  this  ?  " 


156  The  One- Way  Trail 

She  paused,  her  eyes  full  of  that  pain  and  misery 
which  her  tongue  could  never  adequately  express.  She 
wanted  to  open  her  heart  to  him,  to  let  him  see  all  the 
gold  of  her  feelings  for  him,  but  his  moody  unresponsive- 
ness  set  her  tongue  faltering  and  left  her  groping  blindly 
for  the  cause  of  the  trouble  between  them. 

It  was  some  moments  before  Will  answered  her.  He 
sat  glaring  at  the  table,  the  smoke  of  his  pipe  clouding 
the  still  air  of  the  neat  kitchen.  He  knew  he  was  facing 
a  critical  moment  in  their  lives.  He  saw  dimly  that  he 
had,  for  his  own  interests,  gone  a  shade  too  far.  Eve 
was  not  a  weakling,  she  was  a  woman  of  distinct  char- 
acter, and  even  in  his  dull,  besotted  way  he  detected  at 
last  that  note  of  rebellion  underlying  her  appeal.  Sud- 
denly he  looked  up  and  smiled.  But  it  was  not  alto- 
gether a  pleasant  smile.  It  was  against  his  inclination, 
and  was  ready  to  vanish  on  the  smallest  provocation. 

"  You're  taking  things  wrong,  Eve,"  he  said,  and  the 
strain  of  attempting  a  conciliatory  attitude  made  the 
words  come  sharply.  "  What  do  I  want  your  money 
for,  but  to  try  and  make  more  with  it  ?  Do  you  think  I 
want  you  to  keep  me?  I  haven't  come  to  that  yet." 
His  tone  was  rapidly  losing  its  veneer  of  restraint. 
"  Guess  I  can  work  all  right.  No,  no,  my  girl,  you 
haven't  got  to  keep  me  yet.  But  money  gets  money, 
and  you  ought  to  realize  it.  I  admit  my  luck  at  '  draw  ' 
has  been  bad  rotten  !  "  He  violently  knocked  his  pipe 
out  on  a  plate.  "  But  it's  got  to  change.  I  can  play 
with  the  best  of  'em,  an'  they  play  a  straight  game. 
What's  losing  a  few  nights,  if,  in  the  end,  I  get  a  big 
stake?  Why  Restless  helped  himself  to  a  hundred 
dollars  last  night.  And  I'm  going  to  to-night." 


He  sat  glaring  at  the  table,  the  smoke  of  his  pipe  clouding  the  still 
air  of  the  neat  kitchen.  Page  156. 

The  One-  Wnv  Trail. 


The  Breaking  Point  157 

11  But,  Will,  you've  said  that  every  night  for  the  last 
month.  Why  not  be  fair  with  yourself  ?  Your  luck  is 
out ;  give  it  up.  Will,  give  up  the  saloon  for — for  my 
sake.  Do,  dear."  Eve  rose  and  went  round  to  the 
man's  side,  and  laid  a  tenderly  persuasive  hand  upon 
his  shoulder.  She  was  only  waiting  for  a  fraction  of  en- 
couragement. But  that  fraction  was  not  forthcoming. 
Instead  he  shook  her  off.  But  he  tried  to  do  it  pleasantly. 

"  Here,  sit  you  down,  Eve,  and  listen  to  me.  I'm  go- 
ing to  tell  you  something  that  I  hadn't  intended  to,  only 
—only  you're  bothering  such  a  hell  of  a  lot." 

His  language  passed.  She  was  used  to  it  now.  And 
she  sat  shrinking  at  his  rebuff,  but  curious  and  half  fear- 
ful at  what  he  might  have  to  tell  her. 

"  I'm  going  to  have  a  flutter  to-night,  no  matter  what 
comes,  make  your  mind  up  to  that.  And,  win  or  lose,  it's 
my  last.  Get  that  ?  But  I've  got  a  definite  reason  for 
it.  You  see  I  haven't  been  as  idle  as  you  think.  I've 
been  hunting  around  on  the  trail  of  Peter  Blunt.  Folks 
all  think  him  a  fool,  and  cranky  some.  I  never  did. 
He's  been  a  gold  prospector  most  of  his  life.  And  it's 
not  likely  he  don't  know.  Well,  I'm  not  giving  you  a 
long  yarn,  and  to  cut  it  short,  I'm  right  on  to  a  big  find. 
At  least  I've  got  color  in  a  placer  up  at  the  head  waters, 
and  to-morrow  I  go  out  to  work  it  for  all  it's  worth. 
No,  I'm  not  going  to  tell  even  you  where  it  is.  You  see 
it's  a  placer,  and  anybody  could  work  it,  and  I'd  be  cut 
clean  out  if  others  got  to  know  where  it  was.  You 
savvee  ?  " 

Eve  nodded,  but  without  conviction.  The  man  de- 
tected her  lack  of  belief,  and  that  brutal  light  which  was 
so  often  in  his  eyes  now  suddenly  flamed  up.  But  after 


158  The  One- Way  Trail 

a  moment  of  effort  he  banished  it,  and  resorted  to  an 
imitation  of  jocularity. 

"  So  now,  old  girl,  hand  over  that  thirty  dollars.  I'm 
going  to  make  a  '  coup,'  and  to-morrow  begins  a  period 
of — gold.  I  give  you  my  word  you  shall  get  it — sure  as 
I'm  a  living  man.  I'm  not  talking  foolish.  The  shining 
yellow  stuff  is  there  for  the  taking.  And  so  easy, 
too." 

He  waited  with  a  grin  of  cunning  on  his  lips.  He  was 
intoxicated  with  his  own  surety.  And,  curiously,  well  as 
Eve  knew  him,  that  certainty  communicated  itself  to  her 
in  spite  of  her  reason.  But  the  matter  of  handing  over 
the  thirty  dollars  was  different. 

A  hard  light  crept  into  her  eyes  as  she  looked  down  at 
him  from  where  she  stood.  Though  he  did  not  know  it, 
he  was  rapidly  killing  all  the  love  she  had  for  him.  Eve 
was  one  of  those  women  who  can  love  with  every  throb 
of  their  being.  Self  had  no  place  in  her.  The  man  she 
loved  was,  as  a  natural  consequence,  her  all.  Kill  her 
love  and  she  could  be  as  cold  and  indifferent  as  marble. 
At  one  time  in  their  brief  married  life  those  dollars  would 
never  have  been  considered.  They  would  have  been  his 
without  the  asking.  Now 

She  shook  her  head  decidedly. 

"  You  can't  have  them,"  she  said  firmly.  "  They've 
got  to  keep  us  for  a  month.  If  you  depend  on  them 
for  a  game,  you  had  better  wait  till  you  get  the  gold 
from  your  placer."  She  moved  away,  talking  as  she 
went.  "  There's  not  only  ourselves  to  consider.  There's 
Elia.  I " 

But  she  got  no  further.  The  mention  of  her  brother's 
name  suddenly  infuriated  the  man. 


The  Breaking  Point  1 59 

«  Don't  talk  to  me  of  that  little  devil !  "  he  cried.  "  I 
want  those  thirty  dollars,  d'you  understand  ? "  He 
crashed  his  fist  on  the  table  and  set  the  supper  things 
clattering.  "  You  talk  to  me  of  Elia !  That  devil's 
imp  has  been  in  the  way  ever  since  we  got  married. 
And  d'you  think  I'm  going  to  stand  for  him  now  ? " 
He  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  blazing  with  that  fury 
which  of  late  he  rarely  took  the  trouble  to  keep  in 
check.  "  See  here,"  he  cried,  "  you've  preached  to  me 
enough  for  one  night,  and,  fool-like,  I've  listened  to  you. 
I  listen  to  no  more.  So,  just  get  busy  and  hand  over 
those  dollars." 

But  if  he  was  in  a  fury,  he  had  contrived  to  stir  Eve  as 
he  had  never  stirred  her  before. 

"  You'll  not  get  a  cent  of  them,"  she  cried,  her  eyes 
lighting  with  sudden  cold  anger. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  eyeing  each  other.  There 
was  no  flinching  in  Eve  now, .no  appeal,  no  fear.  And 
the  man's  fury  was  driving  him  whither  it  would.  He 
was  gathering  himself  for  a  final  outburst,  and  when  it 
came  it  was  evident  he  had  lost  all  control  of  himself. 

"  You !  I'll  have  those  dollars  if  I  have  to  take 

'em ! " 

"  You  shall  not !  " 

Will  flung  his  pipe  to  the  ground  and  dashed  at  Eve 
like  a  madman.  He  caught  her  by  the  shoulders,  and 
gripped  the  warm  rounded  flesh  until  the  pain  made  her 
writhe  under  his  clutch. 

"Where  are  they?"  he  demanded,  with  another 
furious  oath.  "  I'm  going  to  have  'em.  Speak  !  Speak, 
you -or  i'll_ 

But  Eve  was  obdurate.     Her  courage  was  greater  than 


160  The  One-Way  Trail 

her  strength.  He  shook  her  violently,  clutching  at  her 
shoulders  as  though  to  squeeze  the  information  he  needed 
out  of  her.  But  he  got  no  answer,  and,  in  a  sudden  ac- 
cess of  demoniacal  rage,  he  swung  her  round  and  hurled 
her  across  the  room  with  all  his  strength.  She  fell  with 
a  thud,  and  beyond  a  low  moan  lay  quite  still.  Her 
head  had  struck  the  sharp  angle  of  the  coal  box. 

In  a  moment  the  man  had  passed  into  the  bedroom  in 
search  of  the  money.  Nor  did  he  have  to  search  far. 
Eve  kept  her  money  in  one  place  always,  and  he  knew 
where  it  was.  Having  possessed  himself  of  the  roll  of 
bills  he  came  out  into  the  kitchen.  He  looked  about 
him,  and  his  furious  eyes  fell  upon  the  prostrate  form  of 
his  wife.  She  was  lying  beside  the  coal  box  in  the  atti- 
tude in  which  she  had  fallen.  He  went  over  to  her, 
and  stood  for  a  second  gazing  down  at  the  result  of  his 
handiwork. 

But  there  was  neither  pity  nor  remorse  in  his  heart. 
For  the  time  at  least  he  hated  her.  She  had  dared  to 
defy  him,  she  had  twitted  him  with  his  gaming,  she  had 
refused  him — in  favor  of  Elia.  He  told  himself  all  this, 
and,  as  he  looked  down  at  the  still  figure,  he  told  himself 
it  served  her  right,  and  that  she  would  know  better  in 
the  future.  But  he  waited  until  he  detected  the  feeble 
rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom.  Then  he  went  out,  conscious 
of  a  certain  feeling  of  relief  in  spite  of  his  rage. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  "  PARTY  CALL  " 

PETER  led  the  way  up  the  path  from  the  gate  of  Eve's 
garden.  He  had  taken  the  lead  in  this  visit ;  he  felt  it 
was  necessary.  Jim  Thorpe's  frame  of  mind  was  not  to 
be  trusted,  should  they  encounter  Henderson.  He 
knocked  at  the  door,  reassured  that  Eve  was  within  by 
the  light  in  her  parlor  window. 

At  first  he  received  no  reply,  and  in  silence  the  two 
men  waited.  Then  Peter  knocked  again.  This  time 
Ella's  voice  was  heard  answering  his  summons. 

"  Come  in." 

Peter  raised  the  latch,  and,  closely  followed  by  Jim, 
passed  directly  into  the  parlor.  He  glanced  swiftly 
round  at  the  litter  of  dressmaking,  but  Eve  was  not  there. 
Jim's  eyes,  too,  wandered  over  the  familiar  little  room. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  entered  it  since  the  day  he 
had  ridden  over  to  ask  her  to  marry  him. 

He  saw  Eve  now  in  every  detail  of  the  furnishing  ;  he 
saw  her  in  the  work  he  had  watched  her  at  so  often  ;  he 
saw  her  in  the  very  atmosphere  of  the  place,  and  the 
realization  of  all  he  had  lost  smote  him  sorely.  Then 
there  came  to  him  the  object  of  his  present  visit,  and  he 
grew  sick  with  the  intensity  of  his  feelings. 

But  the  room  was  empty,  and  yet  it  had  been  Elia's 
voice  that  summoned  them  to  enter.  With  only  the 
briefest  hesitation  Peter  started  toward  the  kitchen  door, 
and  Jim,  his  thoughts  running  riot  over  the  past,  me- 


1&2  The  One- Way  Trail 

chanically  followed  him.  And  as  they  reached  it,  an«? 
Peter's  great  bulk  filled  up  the  opening,  it  was  the  latter's 
sharp  exclamation  that  brought  Jim  to  matters  of  the 
moment.  He  drew  close  up  behind  his  companion  and 
looked  over  his  shoulder,  and  a  startled,  horror-stricken 
cry  broke  from  him. 

"  Look ! "  he  cried,  and  the  horror  in  his  voice  was  in 
his  eyes,  and  the  expression  of  his  face. 

The  scene  held  them  both  for  a  second,  and  for  years 
it  lived  in  Jim's  memory.  The  ill-lit  kitchen  with  its 
single  lamp ;  the  yellow  rays  lighting  up  little  more  than 
the  untidy  supper-table  with  the  misshapen  figure  of  Elia 
sitting  on  the  far  side  of  it,  calmly  devouring  his  evening 
meal.  The  rest  of  the  room  was  shadowy,  except  where 
the  light  from  the  cook-stove  threw  its  lurid  rays  upon 
the  white  face  and  crumpled  figure  of  Eve  lying  close 
beside  it  upon  the  floor.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  and  a 
great  wound  upon  her  forehead,  with  blood  oozing  slowly 
from  it,  suggested  death  to  the  horrified  men. 

In  an  instant  Jim  was  at  Eve's  side,  bending  over  her, 
seeking  some  signs  of  life.  Then,  as  Peter  came  up,  he 
turned  to  him  with  a  look  of  unutterable  relief. 

"  She's  alive,"  he  said. 

"  Thank  God  !  " 

"  Quick,"  Jim  hurried  on,  "  water  and  a  sponge,  or 
towel  or  something." 

Peter  crossed  the  room  to  the  barrel,  and  dipped  out 
some  water ;  and,  further,  he  procured  a  washing  flannel, 
and  hastened  back  with  them  to  Jim,  who  was  kneeling 
supporting  the  girl's  wounded  head  upon  his  hand. 

And  all  the  time  Elia,  as  though  in  sheer  idle  curi- 
osity, watched  the  scene,  steadily  continuing  his  meal  the 


A  "  Party  Call  "  1 63 

while.  There  was  no  sort  of  feeling  expressed  in  his 
cold  eyes.  Nor  did  he  display  the  least  relief  when  Jim 
assured  him  Eve  was  alive.  Peter  watched  the  boy,  and 
while  Jim  bathed  her  wounded  forehead  with  a  tender- 
ness which  was  something  almost  maternal,  he  ques- 
tioned him  with  some  exasperation. 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?  "  he  demanded,  his  steady  eyes 
fixed  disapprovingly  on  the  lad's  face. 

"  Don't  know.  Guess  she  must  ha'  fell  some.  Ther's 
suthin'  red  on  the  edge  o'  the  coal  box.  Mebbe  it's  her 
blood." 

The  cold  indifference  angered  even  Peter. 

"  And  you  sit  there  with  her,  maybe,  dying.  Say,  you're 
pretty  mean." 

The  boy's  indifference  suddenly  passed.  He  glanced  at 
Eve,  then  at  the  door,  and  he  stirred  uneasily. 

"  I  didn't  know  wher'  Will  'ud  be.  If  I'd  called  folks, 
an*  he'd  got  around  an'  found  'em  here " 

"  Why  didn't  you  fetch  him  ?  "  Peter  broke  in. 

"  I  come  in  jest  after  he'd  gone  out,  an' " 

"  Found—this  ?  "     Peter  indicated  Eve. 

«  Yes." 

Jim  suddenly  looked  up,  and  his  fierce  eyes  encountered 
Peter's.  The  latter's  tone  promptly  changed. 

"  How  is  she  ?  "  he  asked  gently,  and  it  was  evident  he 
was  trying  to  banish  the  thoughts  which  Elia's  statement 
had  stirred  in  Jim's  mind. 

"  Coming  to,"  he  said  shortly,  and  turned  again  to  his 
task  of  bathing  the  injured  woman's  forehead. 

But  it  was  still  some  minutes  before  the  flicker  of  the 
girl's  eyelids  proved  Jim's  words.  Then  he  sighed  his 
relief  and  for  a  moment  ceased  the  bathing  and  examined 


164  The  One- Way  Trail 

the  wound.  Then  he  reached  a  cushion  from  one  of  the 
kitchen  chairs  and  folded  it  under  her  head. 

The  wound  on  her  forehead  was  an  ugly  place  just  over 
her  right  temple,  and  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind  had 
it  been  half  an  inch  lower  it  would  have  proved  fatal.  He 
knelt  there  staring  at  it,  wondering  and  speculating.  He 
glanced  at  the  corner  of  the  box,  and  the  thought  of  Eve's 
height  suggested  the  impossibility  of  a  tumble  causing 
such  a  wound.  Suspicion  stirred  him  to  a  cold,  hard  rage. 
This  was  no  accident,  he  told  himself,  and  his  mind  flew 
at  once  to  the  only  person  who,  to  his  way  of  thinking, 
could  have  caused  it.  Will  had  left  her  just  as  Elia  came 
in  ;  but  Peter's  voice  called  him  to  himself. 

"  Best  keep  on  with  the  bathing,"  he  said. 

And  without  a  sign  Jim  bent  to  his  task  once  more.  A 
moment  later  Eve  stirred,  and  her  eyes  opened.  At  first 
there  was  no  meaning  in  her  upward  stare.  Then  the  eyes 
began  to  move,  and  settled  themselves  on  Jim's  face.  In 
a  moment  consciousness  returned,  and  she  struggled  to  sit 
up.  It  was  then  the  man's  arm  was  thrust  under  her 
shoulders,  and  he  gently  lifted  her. 

"  Feeling  better,  Eve  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause ;  then  a  whispered, "  Yes," 
came  from  her  lips.  But  her  wound  began  to  bleed  afresh, 
and  Jim  turned  at  once  to  Elia. 

"  Go  you  and  hunt  up  Doc  Crombie,"  he  said  hastily. 
And  as  the  boy  stirred  to  depart,  he  added  in  a  tone  that 
was  curiously  sharp  set,  "  Then  go  on  to  the  saloon  and 
tell  Will  Henderson  to  come  right  up  here." 

But  Peter  interfered. 

"  Let  him  get  the  Doc,"  he  said.  "  I'll  see  to  him— 
later." 


A  "Party  Call0  165 

The  two  men  exchanged  glances,  and  Jim  gave  way. 

"  Very  well.     But  hurry  for  Crombie." 

After  that  Eve's  voice  demanding  water  held  all  Jim's 
attention.  And  while  Peter  procured  a  cupful,  he  lifted 
her  gently  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  into  the  parlor, 
and  laid  her  on  an  old  horsehair  settee,  propping  her  care- 
fully into  a  sitting  position.  When  the  water  was  brought 
she  drank  thirstily,  and  then,  closing  her  eyes,  sank  back 
with  something  like  a  sigh  of  contentment. 

But  with  the  first  touch  of  the  wet  flannel  which  Jim 
again  applied  to  her  head  she  looked  up. 

"  I  fell  on  the  coal  box,"  she  said  hastily.  And  before 
Jim  could  answer  Peter  spoke. 

"  That's  how  we  guessed,"  he  said  kindly.  "  Maybe 
you  were  stooping  for  coal — sure." 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  was  stooping  for  coal  for  the  kitchen 
stove.  I  must  have  got  dizzy.  You  needn't  send  for  the 
doctor.  I'm  all  right,  and  the  bleeding  will  stop.  I've 
just  got  a  headache.  Please  don't  send  for  Will;  Fro 
glad  you  haven't.  He'd  only  be  alarmed  for — for  noth- 
ing— and  really  I'm  all  right.  Thank  you,  Jim,  and  you 
too,  Peter.  You  can't  do  anything  more.  Really  you 
can't,  and  I  don't  want  to  spoil  your  evening.  I " 

"  We're  going  to  wait  for  the  Doc,  Eve,"  said  Jim, 
firmly. 

Her  eagerness  to  be  rid  of  them  was  painfully  evident, 
and  so  unlike  her. 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Peter,  "  we  better  wait  for  the  Doc, 
Eve.  You  see  we  came  down  to  pay  you  a  party  call." 

"  A  party  call  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Y'see  Jim  rode  in  from  the  <  AZ's '  to  pay  you 
a — party  call." 


i66  The  One- Way  Trail 

The  girl's  eyes  steadied  themselves  on  Jim's  face.  He 
had  drawn  himself  up  a  chair,  and  was  sitting  opposite 
her.  Peter  was  still  standing,  his  great  bulk  shutting  the 
glare  of  the  lamplight  out  of  her  eyes.  She  looked 
long  and  earnestly  into  the  man's  face,  as  though  she 
would  fathom  the  meaning  of  his  visit  before  she  in 
any  way  committed  herself.  But  she  learned  nothing 
from  it. 

"A  party  call — after  all  this  time,  Jim?  "  she  asked, 
with  something  like  a'wistful  smile. 

Jim  turned  away.  He  could  not  face  the  pathos  in  her 
expression.  His  eyes  wandered  round  the  little  room. 
Not  on«  detail  of  it  was  forgotten,  yet  it  seemed  ages  and 
ages  since  he  had  seen  it  all.  He  nodded. 

"  You  see,"  he  said  lamely,  "  new  married  folks 
don't " 

Eve  checked  his  explanation  quickly.  She  didn't  want 
any.  All  she  wanted  was  for  them  to  go  before  Will 
returned. 

"  Yes  ;  I  know.  And,  besides,  the  ranch  is  a  long 
way.  Yet — why  did  you  come  to-night?  "  She  pressed 
her  hand  to  her  forehead  lest  the  fear  in  her  eyes  should 
betray  her. 

The  pause  which  followed  was  awkward.  Somehow 
neither  of  the  men  was  prepared  for  it.  Neither  had 
thought  that  such  a  question  would  be  put  to  him.  Peter 
looked  at  Jim,  who  turned  deliberately  away.  He  was 
struggling  vainly  for  a  way  of  approaching  all  he  had  to 
say  to  this  girl,  and  now  that  he  was  face  to  face  with  it 
he  realized  the  impossibility  of  his  position.  Finally  it 
was  the  girl  herself  who  helped  him  out. 

"  It's  very,  very  kind  of  you,  anyway,"  she  said,  in  a 


A  "  Party  Call  "  167 

tow  voice.  "  It's  good  to  think  that  I've  got  friends  think- 
ing about  me " 

"  That's  just  it,  Eve,"  cried  Jim,  seizing  his  opportunity 
with  a  clumsy  rush.  "  I've  been  thinking  a  heap — lately. 
You  see — Will  Henderson's  not  working  and — and — folks 
say " 

"  And  gossip  says  we're  '  hard  up,'  "  Eve  added 
bitterly.  She  knew  well  enough  the  talk  that  was  rife. 
"  So  you've  come  in  to  see — if  it  is  true."  She  again 
pressed  a  hand  to  her  forehead.  This  time  it  was  the 
pain  of  her  head  which  had  become  excruciating. 

Jim  nodded,  and  Peter's  smiling  eyes  continued  to 
watch  him. 

"  But  it  wasn't  exactly  that,"  the  former  went  on  in  his 
straightforward  way.  "Yet  it's  so  blazing  hard  to  put  it 
so  you  can  understand.  You  see,  I've  been  doing  very 
well,  and — you  know  I've  got  a  big  bunch  of  cattle  run- 
ning up  in  the  foot-hills  now — I  thought,  maybe,  seeing 
Will  isn't  working,  money  might  be  a  bit  tight  with  you. 
You  see,  we're  folks  of  the  world,  and  there's  no  fool 
sentiment  about  us  in  these  things ;  I  mean  no  ridiculous 
pride.  Now,  if  I  was  down,  and  you'd  offered  to  help 
me  out,  I'd  just  take  it  as  a  real  friendly  act.  And  I  just 
thought — maybe " 

How  much  longer  he  would  have  continued  to  flounder 
on  it  was  impossible  to  tell,  but  Peter  saw  his  trouble 
and  cut  him  short. 

"  You  see,  Eve,"  he  said,  "  Jim  wants  to  help  you  out. 
Some  folks  have  got  busy,  and  he's  heard  that  you're 
hard  pushed  for  ready  dollars.  That's  how  it  is." 

Jim  frowned  at  his  bluntness,  but  was  in  reality  im- 
mensely relieved.  Eve  had  been  listening  with  closed 


168  The  One- Way  Trail 

eyes,  but  now  opened  them,  and  they  were  full  of  a 
friendliness. 

"Thanks,  Peter;  thanks,  Jim,"  she  said  softly. 
"  You're  both  very  good  to  me,  but — don't  worry  about 
money.  If  things  go  right  we  have  enough." 

"  That's  it,  Eve,"  Jim  exclaimed  eagerly.  "  If  things 
go  right.  Are  they  going  right  ?  Will  they  go  right  ? 
That's  just  it.  Say,  can't  you  see  it  hurts  bad  to  think 
you've  got  to  pinch,  and  that  sort  of  thing?  You  can 
surely  take  a  loan  from  me.  You " 

But  Eve  shook  her  head  decidedly. 

41  Things  will  go  right,  believe  me.  Will  has  got  some- 
thing up — in  the  hills.  He  says  it's  going  to  bring  us  in 
a  lot."  She  turned  wistful  eyes  upon  Peter's  rugged 
face.  "  It's  something  in  your  line,"  she  said.  "  Gold. 

And  he  says "  She  broke  off  with  a  look  of  sudden 

distress.  "  I  forgot.  I  wasn't  to  say  anything  to — to 
anybody.  Please — please  forget  about  it.  But  I  only 
wanted  to  show  you  that — we  are  going  to  do  very 
well." 

"  So  Will's  struck  it  rich."  It  was  Peter's  astonished 
voice  that  answered  her.  The  news  had  a  peculiar  in- 
terest for  him.  "  Placer?  "he  inquired. 

«  Yes — and  easy  to  work.  But  you  won't  say  a  word 
about  it,  will  you  ?  He  told  me  not  to  speak  of  it.  And 
if  he  knew  he  would  be  so  angry.  I " 

"  Don't  worry,  Eve,"  broke  in  Jim,  gently.  "  Your 
secret  is  safe  with  us — quite  safe." 

Peter  said  nothing.  The  news  had  staggered  him  for 
a  moment,  and  he  was  vainly  trying  to  digest  it.  Jim 
rose  from  his  seat  and  leaned  against  the  table.  His  at- 
tempt had  failed.  She  would  have  none  of  his  help. 


A  "  Party  Call  "  169 

But  his  coming  to  that  house  had  told  him,  in  spite  of 
Eve's  reassurance,  that  the  gossip  was  well  founded. 
There  was  trouble  in  Eve's  home,  and  it  was  worse  than 
he  had  anticipated. 

The  girl  eyed  them  both  for  a  moment  with  a  return 
of  that  fear  in  her  eyes. 

"  Are  you  going  now  ?  "  she  inquired,  with  an  anxiety 
she  no  longer  tried  to  conceal.  She  felt  so  ill  that  it 
didn't  seem  to  matter  what  she  said. 

"  We're  going  to  wait  till  Doc  Crombie's  fixed  you 
up,"  said  Peter,  steadily.  Then  he  added  thoughtfully, 
"  After  that  I'm  going  to  fetch  Will." 

Eve  gasped.  Swift  protest  rose  to  her  lips,  but  it  re- 
mained unspoken,  for  at  that  moment  there  came  the 
sound  of  footsteps  outside,  and  Elia  led  the  forceful 
doctor  into  the  room. 

"  Hey,  Mrs.  Henderson,"  he  cried,  nodding  at  the  two 
men.  "  Winged  your  head  some.  Let's  have  a  look," 
he  added,  crossing  to  Eve's  side  and  glancing  keenly  at 
her  wound.  "  Whew  !  "  he  whistled.  "  How  did  you  do 
it  ?  Eh  ?  "  he  demanded,  and  Peter  explained.  The  ex- 
planation was  made  to  save  Eve  what  both  he  and  Jim 
knew  to  be  a  lie. 

The  doctor's  blunt  scorn  was  withering. 

"  Pooh !  Leanin'  over  the  coal  box  ?  Fell  on  the 
corner  ?  Nonsense  !  Say,  if  you'd  fell  clear  off  o'  the 
roof  on  to  that  dogone  box,  mebbe  you  could  ha'  done 
that  amount  o'  damage.  But " 

Eve's  eyes  flashed  indignantly. 

'•  I'd  be  glad  if  you'd  fix  me  up,"  she  said  coldly. 

The  rough  doctor  grinned  and  got  to  work.  She  had 
made  him  suddenly  realize  that  he  was  dealing  with  a 


The  One- Way  Trail 

woman,  and  not  one  of  the  men  of  the  village.  He 
promptly  waived  what  had,  in  the  course  of  years,  be- 
come a  sort  of  prerogative  of  his  :  the  right  to  bully.  In 
half  an  hour  he  had  finished  and  the  three  prepared  to 
take  their  departure. 

"  Guess  you'll  be  all  right  now,"  Crombie  said,  in  his 
gruff  but  not  unkindly  way.  Then,  unable  to  check 
entirely  his  hectoring,  he  went  on  with  a  sarcastic  grin, 
"  An',  say,  ma'm,  if  you've  a  habit  o'  leanin'  so  heavy 
over  the  coal  box,  I'd  advise  you  to  git  the  corners 
rounded  some.  When  falls  sech  as  you've  jest  bin  takin' 
happen  around  they  don't  generly  end  with  the  first  of 
'em.  I  wish  you  good-night." 

Peter^also  bade  her  good-night,  and  he  and  the  doctor 
passed  out.  Jim  was  about  to  follow  when  Eve  stayed 
him.  She  waited  to  speak  till  the  others  had  passed  out 
of  ear-shot. 

"  Jim,  you're  real  good,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  And  I  can  never  thank  you  enough.  No,"  as  he 
made  an  attempt  to  stop  her,  "  I  must  speak.  I  didn't 
want  to,  but — but  I  must.  It  isn't  money  we  want — 
truth.  Not  yet.  But  maybe  you  can  help  me.  I  don't 
rightly  know.  You  do  want  to,  don't  you?  Sure — 
sure  ?  " 

Jim  nodded.  His  eyes  told  her.  At  that  moment  he 
would  have  done  anything  for  her. 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  help  me  there's  only  one  way. 
Help  him.  Oh,  Jim,  he  needs  it.  I  don't  know  how 
it's  to  be  done,  but — for  my  sake — help  him.  Jim,  it's 
drink — drink  and  poker.  They're  ruining  him.  You 
can  only  help  me — by  helping  him.  No,  don't  promise 
anything.  Good-night,  Jim.  God  bless  you  !  " 


A  "Party  Call"  171 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  and,  in  a  paroxysm  of 
ardent  feeling,  he  clutched  it  and  kissed  it  passionately. 
A  moment  later  he  was  gone. 

As  the  door  closed  Elia  stepped  into  the  light.  The 
girl  had  forgotten  all  about  him.  Now  she  was  startled. 

"  Eve,  wot  fer  did  you  lie  about  that?"  he  said,  point- 
ing at  her  bandaged  head. 

The  girl's  head  was  aching  so  that  it  seemed  it  would 
split,  and  she  closed  her  eyes.  But  the  boy  would  not 
be  denied. 

"  You  lied,  sis,"  he  exclaimed  vehemently,  though  his 
face  and  eyes  were  quite  calm.  "  Will  did  that,  'cause 
you  wouldn't  give  him  thirty  dollars.  I  see  him  throw 
you  'crost  the  room.  I  hate  him." 

Eve  was  wide-eyed  now. 

"  You  saw  him  ? "  she  cried  in  alarm.  Then  she 
paused.  Suddenly  her  tone  changed.  "  Come  here, 
Elia,"  she  said  gently. 

The  boy  came  toward  her  and  she  took  one  of  his 
hands  and  fondled  it. 

"  How  did  you  see  him  ?  "  she  went  on. 

"  Through  the  window.  I  was  waitin*  fer  supper." 
In  spite  of  her  caress  the  boy  was  sulky. 

"  Well,  promise  me  you  won't  tell  anybody.  You 
haven't,  have  you  ?  " 

The  boy  shook  his  head. 

"  I  won't  tell,  sis,  if  you  don't  want  me.  But — but 
why  don't  you  kill  him  ?  " 

The  three  men  were  walking  across  the  market-place. 
"  That's  Will  Henderson's  work,"  exclaimed  Crombie 
with  a  fierce  oath,  nodding  his  head  back  at  Eve's  house. 


172  The  One- Way  Trail 

Jim  and  Peter  offered  no  comment.  Both  had  long 
since  realized  the  fact. 

"  Gol  durn  him  !  "  cried  the  fiery  doctor.  "  He'll  kill 
her — if  he  don't  get  killed  instead." 

Jim  said  nothing.  Eve's  passionate  appeal  to  him  was 
still  ringing  in  his  ears.  It  was  Peter  who  answered. 

"  You  goin'  to  home,  Doc?  I'm  goin'  down  to  the 
saloon — to  fetch  Will." 

"  You  are  ?  "  It  was  Jim's  startled  inquiry.  "  What 
for?" 

"  I'm  going  to  yarn  some — mebbe.  You  get  right  out 
to  the  ranch,  boy.  An'  don't  get  around  here  till  I  send 
you  word." 

The  doctor  stood  for  a  moment. 

"  He  needs  hangin'/'  he  declared.  Then,  in  the 
cheery  starlight,  he  looked  into  the  two  men's  faces  and 
grinned.  He  had  a  great  knowledge  of  the  men  of  his 
village.  "  Well,  so  long,"  he  added,  and  abruptly  strode 
away. 

The  moment  he  had  gone  Jim  protested. 

"  Peter/'  he  said,  "  we've  got  to  help  him  ;  we've  got 
to  get  him  clear  of  that  saloon.  It's  not  because  I  like 
him  or  want " 

"  Just  so.  But  we  got  to  help  him.  So,  you  get  right 
out  to  the  ranch,  an' — leave  him  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

DEVIL   DRIVEN 

THE  saloon  was  full  and  Rocket  was  busy.  His  face 
glowed  with  funereal  happiness.  He  was  sombrely  de- 
lighted at  the  rapidity  with  which  the  tide  of  dollars  was 
flowing  across  his  dingy  counter.  He  was  more  than 
ordinarily  interested,  too,  which  was  somewhat  remark- 
able. 

The  fact  was  BarnrifTs  scandal  had  received  a  fillip  in 
a  fresh  and  unprecedented  direction.  McLagan  had  been 
in,  bringing  two  of  his  cow-punchers  with  him.  The 
hot-headed  Irishman  had  crashed  into  the  midst  of  Barn- 
riff  with  such  a  splash  that  it  set  the  store  of  public  com- 
ment hissing  and  spluttering,  and  raised  a  perfect  roar  of 
astonishment  and  outraged  rectitude. 

He  had  arrived  late,  after  the  usual  evening  game  had 
started.  His  first  inquiry  was  for  Jim  Thorpe,  and  he 
cursed  liberally  when  told  that  nobody  had  seen  him. 
Then  he  fired  his  angry  story  at  the  assembled  company 
of  villagers,  and  passed  on  to  make  camp  at  a  rival  ranch 
five  miles  to  the  northwest. 

It  was  a  rapidly  told  story  full  of  lurid  trimmings,  and, 
judging  by  its  force,  came  from  his  heart. 

"  It's  duffing,  boys,"  he  cried,  with  an  oath,  and  a 
thump  on  the  bar  which  set  the  glasses,  filled  at  his  ex- 
pense, rattling.  "  Dogone  cattle-duffing  !  Can  you  beat 
it?  The  first  in  five  year,  since  Curly  Sanders  got  gay. 
and  then  spent  a  vacation  treadin'  air.  We  got  first 


174  The  One- Way  Trail 

wind  of  it  nigh  a  week  back,  Jim  an'  me.  We  missed  a 
bunch  o'  backward  calves.  We  let  'em  run  this  spring 
round-up,  guessin'  we'd  round  'em  up  come  the  fall. 
Well,  say,  Jim  went  to  git  a  look,  at  'em — they  was  way 
back  there  by  the  foot-hills,  in  a  low  hollow — an'  not  a 
blame  trace  or  track  of  'em  could  he  locate.  We  just 
guessed  they  was  « stray/  and  started  in  to  round  'em  up. 
Well,  the  boys  has  been  busy  nigh  on  a  week,  an'  here, 
this  sundown,  Nat  Pauley  an'  Jim  Beason  come  riding  in, 
till  their  bronchos  was  nigh  foundered,  sayin'  a  bunch 
of  twenty  cows  on  the  Bandy  Creek  station  has  gone  too. 
D'you  git  that  ?  Those  blamed  calves  was  on  the  Bandy 
Creek  range,  too.  It's  darnation  cattle-thievin',  an'  I'm 
hot  on  the  trail." 

And  Barnriff  was  stirred.  It  was  more.  It  was  up  in 
arms.  There  was  no  stronger  appeal  to  its  sympathies 
than  the  cry  of  "  cattle-thief  !  "  As  a  village  it  lived  on 
the  support  of  the  surrounding  ranches,  and  their  ills  be- 
came the  scourge  of  this  hornet's  nest  of  sharp  traders. 
McLagan  had  raised  the  cry  here  knowing  full  well  the 
hatred  he  would  stir,  and  the  support  that  would  be  ac- 
corded him  should  he  need  it. 

He  had  come  and  gone  a  veritable  firebrand,  and  the 
hot  trail  he  had  left  behind  him  was  smouldering  in  a 
manner  unhealthy  for  the  cattle- thieves. 

When  Peter  Blunt  entered  the  saloon  it  was  to  receive 
McLagan's  tale  from  all  sides.  And  while  he  listened  to 
the  story,  now  garbled  out  of  all  semblance  of  its  original 
form  by  the  whiskey-stimulated  imaginations,  he  found 
himself  wondering  how  it  came  that  Jim  Thorpe  had 
given  him  no  word  of  it.  And  he  said  so. 

"  Say,  boys,"  he  observed,  when  he  got  a  chance  to 


Devil  Driven 

speak,  "  I  only  left  Jim  Thorpe  a  while  back.  He  rode 
in  to  see  me.  He  didn't  give  me  word  of  this." 

It  was  Abe  Horsley  who  explained. 

"  McLagan  came  in  looking  for  him.  Jim's  only  got 
the  week  old  stuff.  The  news  hit  the  ranch  at  sundown 
to-day." 

Peter-  nodded. 

"  I  see." 

"  You'll  see  more,  Peter,"  broke  in  Smallbones  viciously. 
"  You'll  see  a  vigilance  committee  right  here,  if  this  gambol 
don't  quit.  Barnriff  don't  stand  for  cattle-duffin'  worth 
a  cent." 

"  Upsets  trade,"  lumbered  Jake  Wilkes,  with  the  tail  of 
his  eye  on  the  busy  Smallbones. 

Gay  laughed  ponderously. 

"  Smallbones  '11  show  us  how  to  form  a  corporation  o' 
vigilantes.  Though  it  ain't  a  finance  job." 

"  Ay,  that  I  will.  I'm  live  anyways.  I've  had  to  do 
with  'em  before." 

"  You  didn't  ge,t  hanged,"  protested  Jake,  after  heavy 
thought.  "  Guess  you  ain't  got  no  kick  coming." 

Smallbones  purpled  to  the  roots  of  his  bristly  hair. 
Jake  irritated  him  to  a  degree,  and  the  roar  of  laughter 
which  greeted  the  slow-witted  baker's  sally  set  him  com- 
pletely on  edge. 

"  Guess  I  was  on  the  other  end  of  the  rope,"  he  re- 
torted, trying  to  turn  the  laugh,  but  the  baker,  with  grave 
deliberation,  added  to  his  score. 

"  Which  was  a  real  mean  trick  o'  fortune  on  us  folks  o' 
Barnriff,"  he  murmured. 

In  the  midst  of  the  laughter  Peter  moved  away  to  the 
tables.  He  looked  on  here  and  there  watching  the  vary- 


176  The  One- Way  Trail 

ing  fortunes  with  all  the  interest  of  his  intensely  human 
mind.  The  weaknesses  of  human  nature  appealed  to  his 
kindly  sympathy  as  they  can  only  to  those  of  large  heart. 
He  begrudged  no  man  moments  when  the  cares  of  every- 
day life  might  be  pushed  into  the  background,  however 
they  might  be  obtained. 

He  argued  that  the  judgment  of  Nature  needed  no 
human  condemnation  added  to  it.  Human  penalty  must 
be  reserved  for  the  administration  of  social  laws.  To  his 
mind  the  broad  road  of  evil  would  automatically  claim  its 
own  without  the  augmentation  of  the  loads  of  human 
freight  borne  thither  on  the  dump-carts  of  the  self-right- 
eous. Rather  it  was  his  delight  to  hold  out  a  hand  to  a 
poor  soul  in  distress,  even  if  his  own  ground  were  none 
too  secure. 

At  one  table  he  saw  the  winnings  almost  entirely  in  one 
corner,  and  the  expressive  yet  grim  faces  of  the  other 
players  only  too  plainly  showed  their  feelings.  He  noticed 
the  greedy  manner  in  which  the  losers  clutched  up  their 
cards  at  each  fresh  deal.  Their  hope  was  invincible,  and 
he  loved  them  for  it.  It  may  have  been  the  hope  such 
as  a  drowning  man  is  credited  with.  It  may  have  been 
the  sportsman's  instinct  seeking  a  fresh  turn  in  fortune's 
wheel.  It  may  have  been  inspired  by  the  malicious  hope 
of  the  winner's  downfall.  But  he  felt  it  was  healthy,  in 
spite  of  the  ethical  pronouncements  of  those  who  repose 
on  the  pedestal  of  their  own  virtues.  It  was,  to  his  mind, 
the  spirit  of  the  fighter  in  the  game  of  life,  a  spirit,  which, 
even  though  misdirected,  must  never  be  unreservedly  de- 
plored. To  his  mind  it  were  better  to  fight  a  battle,  how- 
ever wrong  be  the  prompting  instinct,  than  to  run  for 
the  shelter  of  supine  ineptitude. 


Devil  Driven  177 

He  moved  slowly  round  the  room  till  he  came  to  the 
table  where  Will  Henderson  was  playing.  He  had  reached 
his  goal,  and  his  self-imposed  task  had  begun.  His  eyes 
quickly  scanned  the  table  and  the  faces  of  the  five  players. 
The  other  four  were  men  he  knew,  not  actually  of  the 
village,  but  hard-faced,  lean  ranchmen,  men  who  came 
from  heaven  alone  knew  where,  and  whose  earthly  career 
was  scarcely  likely  to  bring  about  the  final  completion  of 
the  circle. 

For  the  moment  they  mattered  little.  It  was  Will  he 
was  concerned  with ;  nor  was  it  with  his  fortunes  in  the 
game.  The  hand  had  just  finished,  and  he  saw  one  of  the 
men  rake  in  a  small  pot  of  "  ante's  "  without  a  challenge. 
While  the  fresh  dealer  was  shuffling  the  cards  he  caught 
Will's  eye.  He  read  there  the  anxiety  of  a  gambler  whose 
luck  is  out.  He  glanced  at  his  attenuated  pile  of  chips, 
and  took  his  opportunity. 

"  Feel  like  missing  the  deal,  Will  ?  "  he  asked  casually. 

But  the  set  of  the  face  lifted  to  him  warned  him  of  the 
negative  which  swiftly  followed. 

"  Guess  I'm  not  yearning." 

Peter  followed  it  up  while  the  cards  were  being  cut. 

"  I've  got  to  speak  to  you  particular •" 

A  look  of  doubt  suddenly  leaped  into  Will's  eyes,  and  he 
hesitated. 

"  What  d'you  want  ?  " 

Peter  eyed  the  tumbler  of  whiskey  at  the  man's  elbow. 
He  noted  the  heavy  eyes  in  the  good-looking  young 
face.  But  the  cards  were  dealt,  and  he  waited  for  the 
finish  of  the  hand.  He  saw  Will  bet,  and  lose  on  a 
"  full-house."  His  pile  was  reduced  to  four  fifty-cent 
chips,  and  the  man's  language  was  full  of  venom  at  his 


178  The  One- Way  Trail 

opponent's  luck.  The  moment  he  ceased  speaking  Peter 
began  again. 

'•  Your  wife's  hurt  bad,"  he  said.  "  Doc  Crombie's 
only  just  left  her." 

Will  started.  He  had  forgotten.  A  sudden  fear  held 
him  silent,  while  he  waited  for  more.  But  no  more  was 
forthcoming.  Only  the  blue  eyes  of  his  informant 
searched  his  face,  and,  to  the  guilty  man,  they  seemed  to 
be  reading  to  the  very  depths  of  his  soul.  Something 
urged  him,  and  he  suddenly  stood  up. 

"  You  best  deal  four  hands,"  he  said  hastily  to  his 
companions.  "  I'll  be  back  directly." 

Then  he  moved  away  from  the  table  unsteadily,  and 
Peter  made  a  guess  at  the  quantity  of  bad  whiskey  he 
had  consumed.  He  led  the  way  from  the  tables,  and, 
once  clear  of  them,  glanced  over  his  shoulder. 

"  We  best  get  outside,"  he  said. 

But  Will  was  already  regretting  his  game.  The  feel- 
ing of  guilt  was  passing.  It  had  only  been  roused  by 
the  suddenness  of  Peter's  announcement.  A  look  of  re- 
sentment accompanied  his  reply. 

"  I  ain't  going  to  miss  more  than  a  couple  of  hands," 
he  protested. 

"  Then  we  best  hurry." 

Peter  led  the  way  through  the  crowd,  and  the  two 
passed  out.  With  the  glare  and  reek  of  the  bar  behind 
them  he  dropped  abreast  of  Will,  and  walked  him  steadily 
in  the  direction  of  his  own  hut.  At  first  Henderson 
failed  to  notice  the  intention  ;  he  was  waiting  for  Peter 
to  speak.  He  was  waiting  for  the  "  particular  "  he  had 
spoken  of.  Then,  as  it  did  not  seem  to  be  forthcoming, 
he  promptly  rebelled. 


Devil  Driven  179 

"  You  can  tell  me  right  here,"  he  said,  with  distinct 
truculence,  and  coming  to  a  dead  standstill. 

Peter  reached  out,  and  his  powerful  hand  closed  about 
the  other's  upper  arm. 

"  What  I've  got  to  tell  you  can  be  told  in  my  shack. 
You  best  come  right  on." 

"  Take  your  darned  hand  off  me !  "  cried  Will,  angrily. 
"  You'll  tell  me  here,  or  I  get  back  to  my  game."  He 
tried  to  twist  himself  free.  But  Peter's  hand  tightened 
its  hold. 

"  You're  quitting  that  saloon  for  to-night,  Will,"  he 
said  quietly. 

The  other  laughed,  but  he  had  a  curiously  uncomfort- 
able feeling  under  his  anger.  Suddenly  he  put  more 
exertion  into  his  efforts  to  release  himself,  and  his  fury 
rose  in  proportion. 

"  Darn  your  soul,  let  me  go  !  "  he  cried. 

But  Peter  suddenly  seized  his  wrist  with  his  other  hand, 
and  it  closed  on  it  like  a  vice. 

"  Don't  drive  me  to  force,"  he  warned.  "  That  saloon 
is  closed  to  you  to-night.  Do  you  understand?  I've 
got  to  say  things  that'll  likely  change  your  way  of  think- 
ing. Don't  be  a  fool ;  come  on  up  to  my  shack." 

There  was  something  so  full  of  calm  strength,  so  full 
of  conviction  in  Peter's  tone  that  it  was  not  without  its 
effect.  That  guilty  thought  rose  again  in  Will's  mind, 
and  it  weakened  his  power  of  resistance.  His  rage  was 
no  less,  but  now  there  was  something  else  with  it, 
an  undermining  fear,  and  in  a  moment  he  ceased  to 
struggle. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  and  moved  forward  at  the  other's 


180  The  One- Way  Trail 

Peter  released  his  wrist,  but  kept  his  hold  on  his  arm. 

And  they  walked  in  silence  to  the  "  shack."  Will  had 
long  known  the  gold  prospector,  and  had  become  so  ac- 
customed to  the  mildness  of  his  manner,  as  had  all  the 
village,  that  this  sudden  display  of  physical  and  moral 
force  brought  with  it  an  awakening  that  had  an  un- 
pleasant flavor.  Then,  too,  his  own  thoughts  were 
none  too  easy,  and  the  picture  of  Eve  as  he  had  last 
seen  her  would  obtrude  itself,  and  created,  if  no  gentler 
feeling,  at  least  a  guilty  nervousness  that  sickened  his 
stomach. 

Peter  said  that  Doc  Crombie  had  only  just  left  her. 
What  did  that  mean  ?  Only  just  left  her,  and — it  had 
occurred  nearly  two  hours  ago.  He  was  troubled.  But 
his  trouble  was  in  no  way  touched  with  either  remorse 
or  pity.  He  was  thinking  purely  of  himself. 

Of  course  she  had  recovered,  he  told  himself.  He  had 
watched  her  breathing  before  he  left  her.  Yes,  he  had 
ascertained  that.  She  had  been  merely  stunned.  Ah,  a 
sudden  thought !  Perhaps  she  had  told  them  what  had 
happened.  A  black  rage  against  her  suddenly  took  hold 
of  him.  If  she  had— but  no.  Even  though  he  was — as 
he  was,  he  realized,  as  bad  natures  often  will  realize  in 
others  better  than  themselves,  Eve's  loyalty  and  high- 
mindedness.  It  could  not  be  that.  He  wondered.  And 
wondering  they  reached  their  destination. 

Peter  let  him  pass  into  the  hut,  and,  following  quickly, 
lit  the  lamp.  Then  he  pointed  at  the  only  comfortable 
seat,  and  propped  himself  against  the  table,  with  the  light 
shining  full  on  Will's  face. 

"  Will,"  he  began,  without  any  preamble,  "  you've  got 
to  take  a  fall — quick.  You've  got  to  get  such  a  big  frU 


Devil  Driven  l8l 

that  maybe  it'll  hurt  some — at  first.  But  you'll  get  better 
>-later." 

•'  I  don't  get  you." 

The  man  assumed  indifference.  He  felt  that  he  must 
steady  himself.  He  wanted  to  get  the  measure  of  the 
other  before  giving  vent  to  those  feelings  which  were 
natural  to  him  since  drink  had  undermined  all  that  was 
best  in  him. 

"  You've  nearly  killed  your  wife  to-night,"  Peter  went 
on,  with  a  new  note  of  harshness  in  his  voice.  "  Look 
you,  I'm  not  going  to  preach.  It's  not  our  way  here,  and 
none  of  us  are  such  a  heap  good  that  preaching  comes 
right  from  us.  I'm  warning  you,  and  it's  a  warning 
you'll  take  right  here,  or  worse'll  come.  Now  I  don't 
know  the  rights  of  what  has  happened  between  you  and 
Eve,  but  I'll  sort  of  reconstruct  it  to  you  in  my  own  way, 
and  it  matters  nothing  if  I  am  right  or  wrong.  Eve  and 
you  had  words.  What  about  I  can  only  guess  at. 
Maybe  it  was  money,  maybe  the  saloon,  maybe  poker. 
You  two  must  have  got  to  words,  which  ended  by  you 
brutally  pitching  her  on  to  the  edge  of  the  cdal  box,  and 
nearly  killing  her.  After  that  you  went  out,  leaving  her 
to  die — by  your  act — if  it  took  her  that  way.  Mark  you, 
she  didn't  fall.  She  couldn't  have — and  smashed  her  fore- 
head as  she  did.  She  told  us  she  did,  but  that,  I  guess, 
was  to  shield  you." 

"  Then  she  didn't  give  you  this  pretty  yarn  ?"  inquired 
Will,  sarcastically.  He  was  feeling  better.  He  gathered 
that  Eve  was  not  going  to  die.  "  You  kind  of  made  it 
up  on  your  own  ?  " 

"  Just  so,"  replied  Peter,  quite  unmoved.  "  I — we — 
Doc  Crombie,  Jim  Thorpe,  and  I.  We  made  it  up,  as 


182  The  One- Way  Trail 

you  choose  to  call  it,  because  we've  eyes  and  ears  and 
common  sense.  And  Doc  Crombie  knows  just  about 
how  much  force  it  would  take  to  smash  her  head  as  it 
was  smashed." 

"  And  what  were  you  fellows  doing  in  my  house  ? " 
Will  demanded,  his  anger  gaining  ground  in  proportion 
to  the  abatement  of  his  fears. 

0  We  were  in  Eves  house,"  answered  Peter,  drily,  "  for 
the  reason  that  we  wished  to  have  a  chat  with  her.  That 
is,  Jim  and  I.  Doc  Crombie  came  because  we'd  a  notion 
we  were  sorry  for  Eve,  and  didn't  want  her  to  die  on  our 
hands.  That's  why  we  were  there." 

Will  laughed. 

"  Jim  Thorpe  was  there,  eh  ?  And  who's  to  say  that 
you  and  he  didn't  do  the  mischief?  Guess  Jim  hates 
things  enough,  seeing  I  married  Eve.  She'd  got  no 
broken  head  when  I  left  her." 

"  You  needn't  to  lie  about  it,  Will,"  Peter  said  calmly. 
"  Least  of  all  to  me.  But  that  makes  no  odds.  As  I 
said,  you've  got  to  take  a  fall.  BarnrirTs  got  ears 
and  eyes  that  puts  it  wise  to  a  lot.  It's  wise  to  how 
things  have  been  going  with  you  and  Eve.  It's  wise 
to  the  fact  you're  bumming  your  living  out  of  her, 
that  you're  a  drunken,  poker-playing  loafer,  and  that 
you're  doing  it  on  her  earnings.  And  Barnriff,  headed 
by  a  few  of  us,  and  Doc  Crombie,  aren't  going  to  stand 
for  it.  If  you  don't  get  busy  you'll  find  there's  trouble 
for  you,  and  if,  from  this  out,  Barnriff  gets  wise  to  your 
ill-treatment  of  Eve,  in  any  way — God  help  you.  You'll 
get  less  mercy  shown  you  than  you  showed  that  poor 
girl  to-night.  That's  what  I  brought  you  here  to  say. 
And  I'd  like  to  add  a  piece  of  friendly  advice.  Don't 


Devil  Driven  183 

you  show  your  face  in  Rocket's  saloon  to  get  a  drink  or 
deal  a  hand  at  poker  for  a  month  or — well,  I  needn't 
warn  you  further  of  what's  going  to  happen.  If  you've 
got  savvee  you'll  read  through  the  lines.  Maybe  you'll 
take  this  hard — I  can  see  it  in  your  face.  But  you're  a 
man,  and  you've  got  some  grit — well,  get  right  out  and 
do  things.  That's  your  chance  here  in  Barnriff." 

Will  Henderson's  face  was  a  study  while  he  listened  to 
his  arraignment  and  final  sentence  by  the  mild  Peter 
Blut:t.  At  first  rage  was  his  dominant  emotion,  but  it 
gave  way  before  the  mild  but  resolute  fashion  in  which 
the  large  man  poured  out  the  inexorable  flow  of  the 
sentence.  And  somehow  for  a  moment  those  calm  words 
got  hold  of  all  that  was  vital  in  him,  and  he  shrank  before 
them.  But  neither  did  this  feeling  last.  A  bitter  hatred 
rose  up  in  his  heart,  a  black,  overmastering,  passionate 
desire  for  vengeance  fired  him,  and  proportionate  with 
its  strength  a  cunning  stirred  which  held  it  in  check. 
He  put  an  abrupt  question,  nor  could  he  keep  his  angry 
feelings  out  of  his  voice. 

"  So  Jim  Thorpe's  helped  in  this  ?  "  he  said  savagely. 
*•'  No  need  to  ask  his  reason.  Gee,  it's  a  mean  man  that 
can't  take  his  med'cine." 

"You  needn't  bark  up  that  tree,  Will,"  said  Peter, 
patiently.  "  We're  all  responsible  for  this— the  whole  of 
Barnriff."  Then  he  smiled.  "You  see,  Doc  Crombie 
has  approved." 

Then  it  was  that  Henderson  saw  fit  to  change  his 
manner.  It  seemed  almost  as  ;f  the  enormity  of  his 
offense  had  been  suddenly  brought  home  to  him,  and 
contrition  had  begun  to  stir. 

"  Seems  to  me,  Peter,  as  if  the  ways  of  things  were 


184  The  One- Way  Trail 

queer,"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause.  "  I've  got  something 
that'll  keep  me  out  of  Barnriff  a  good  deal  in  future. 
I've  had  it  a  week  an'  more  back.  I've  struck  a  good 
thing  up  in  the  hills."  He  laughed.  "  A  real  good 
thing — and  it's  easy,  too." 

"  I'm  glad,"  the  other  said  genuinely. 

44  It's  gold.  Something  in  your  line,  eh  ?  Placer. 
Gee,  I'll  make  things  hum  when  I've  taken  the  stuff 
out  of  it.  S'truth,  I'll  buy  some  of  'em !  And  sell  'em, 
too,  for  that  matter." 

Peter  was  interested. 

41  Gold,  eh  ?  Well,  good  luck  to  you.  I'm  glad — if 
it's  to  make  a  man  of  you." 

For  a  second  Will's  eyes  flashed. 

"Yes,  you're  right;  it'll  make  a  man  of  me.  And, 
being  a  man,  there  are  some  things  I'm  not  likely  to  for- 
get. Say,  you've  passed  sentence — you  and  your  friends, 
which  include  Jim  Thorpe.  You  won't  have  to  carry  it 
out.  I'll  knuckle  down,  because  I  know  you  all.  But, 
by  gee  !  I've  struck  what  you're  looking  for,  and  when 
I've  gathered  the  dust  I'll  make  some  folks  jump  to  my 
own  tune  !  Get  that,  Peter  Blunt." 

Peter  smiled  at  the  sudden  outburst  of  malicious  rage. 
Then  his  face  grew  cold,  and  his  even  tone  checked  the 
tide  of  the  other's  impotent  rage. 

"  I  get  it,"  he  said.  "  But  meanwhile  Barnriff  is  top 
dog,  an'  you  best  write  that  down  in  big  letters,  and  set 
it  where  you  can  read  it  easily.  Now  you  can  go  home 
and  look  after  your  poor  wife.  And  remember,  as  sure 
as  there's  a  God  in  heaven,  if  you  make  that  girl's  life  a 
misery,  or  in  any  way  hurt  her,  you'll  sicken  at  the 
thought  of  Barnriff.  Now  you  can  go." 


Devil  Driven  185 

Peter's  quiet  manner  carried  unpleasant  conviction  to 
the  departing  man.  The  conviction  was  so  strong  that  he 
obeyed  him  to  the  letter.  He  walked  without  hesitation, 
without  any  desire  to  do  otherwise,  in  the  direction  of  his 
home.  But  this  was  an  almost  mechanical  result.  His 
mind  was  occupied  in  a  way  that  would  have  astonished 
the  men  of  Barnriff. 

His  fury  had  gone.  His  brain  was  filled  with  cold, 
hard  thoughts,  the  more  cruel  for  their  lack  of  heat.  His 
thoughts  were  of  that  which  he  had  struck  in  the  hills, 
and  of  a  revenge  which  he  felt  he  could  play  off  on  these 
people  who  demanded  that  he  should  guide  his  life  as 
they  dictated.  He  saw  subtle  possibilities  which  gave 
him  enjoyment.  He  would  work,  and  work  hard.  And 
then  the  manner  of  the  revenge  he  would  take!  He 
laughed. 

Then  his  laugh  died  out,  for  Jim  Thorpe  wholly  occu- 
pied his  thoughts,  and  there  was  no  room  for  laughter 
where  Jim  was  concerned.  He  remembered  Jim  was 
making  money — and  how.  Suddenly  he  paused  in  his 
walk,  and  a  delighted  exclamation  broke  from  him. 

"  Gee  !  The  very  thing  I've  been  looking  for.  He's 
got  that  land  from  McLagan.  He's  going  to  run  a 
ranch.  He's  going  to  play  big  dog.  Gee !  That's  the 
game !  Say,  master  Jim,"  he  went  on,  apostrophizing 
the  absent  man  he  had  so  easily  learned  to  hate,  "  I'll 
make  you  a  sick  man  before  the  snow  falls.  Gee ! 
You'd  butt  in  in  my  affairs.  You're  standing  Eve's 
friend."  He  laughed.  "  Go  ahead,  boy.  I'll  play  up 
to  you.  Eve  shall  tell  you  I'm  a  reformed  man,  and 
you'll  feel  better.  And  then " 

And  by  the  time  he  reached  his  home  there  was  ap- 


1 86  The  One- Way  Trail 

parently  a  complete  transformation  in  him.  The  old 
•noody  selfishness  and  brutality  toward  his  wife  seemed 
so  have  fallen  from  him  like  a  hideous  cloak.  He  played 
the  game  he  intended  with  such  an  appearance  of  good 
faith  that  the  sick  woman  suddenly  experienced  the  first 
relief  and  comfort  she  had  known  for  months. 

He  waited  on  her,  repentant  and  solicitous,  till  she 
could  hardly  believe  her  senses,  and  she  even  forgot  to 
ask  the  result  of  his  gamble.  And  the  next  morning, 
when  necessity  forced  her  to  ask  him  for  money,  she  was 
content  that  he  returned  to  her  something  under  ten 
dollars  of  that  which  he  had  stolen  from  her. 

Later  in  the  day  he  left  for  the  hills,  and  from  that 
moment  an  entire  change  came  over  Eve's  whole  life. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   WORKING   OF   THE   PUBLIC    MIND 

THE  month  following  Will's  departure  from  the  village 
saw  stirring  times  for  the  citizens  of  Barnriff. 

The  exploding  of  Dan  McLagan's  bombshell  in  their 
midst  was  only  the  beginning ;  a  mere  herald  of  what  was 
to  follow.  Excitement  after  excitement  ran  riot,  until 
the  public  mind  was  dazed,  and  the  only  thing  that  re- 
mained clear  to  it  was  that  crime  and  fortune  were  racing 
neck  and  neck  for  possession  of  their  community. 

The  facts  were  simple  enough  in  themselves,  but  the 
complexity  of  their  possibilities  was  a  difficult  problem 
which  troubled  Barnriff  not  a  little. 

In  the  first  instance  McLagan's  alarm  set  everybody 
agog.  Then  a  systematic  wave  of  cattle-stealing  set  in 
throughout  the  district.  Nor  were  these  depredations 
of  an  extensive  nature.  Cattle  disappeared  in  small 
bunches  of  from  ten  to  forty  head,  but  the  persistence 
with  which  the  thefts  occurred  soon  set  the  aggregate 
mounting  up  to  a  large  figure. 

The  "  AZ's  "  lost  two  more  bunches  of  cattle  within  a 
week.  The  "  O  P's  "  followed  up  with  their  quota  of 
forty  head,  which  set  "  old  man  "  Blundell  raving  through 
the  district  like  a  mad  bull.  Then  came  a  raid  on  the 
"  U — U's."  Sandy  Mclntosh  cursed  the  rustlers  in  the 
broadest  Scotch,  and  set  out  to  scour  the  country  with 
his  boys.  Another  ranch  to  suffer  was  the  "  crook-bar," 
but  they,  like  the  "  TT's,"  couldn't  tell  the  extent  of 


188  The  One- Way  Trail 

their  losses  definitely,  and  estimated  them  at  close  on 
to  thirty  head  of  three-year-old  beeves. 

The  village  seethed,  furious  with  indignation.  For 
years  Barnriff  had  been  clear  of  this  sort  of  thing,  and,  as 
a  consequence,  the  place  had  been  left  to  bask  in  the  sun  of 
commercial  prosperity  consequent  upon  the  thriving  con- 
dition of  the  surrounding  ranches^  Now,  that  prosperity 
was  threatened.  If  the  ranches  suffered  Barnriff  must 
suffer  with  them.  Men  spoke  of  a  viligance  committee. 
But  they  spoke  of  it  without  any  real  enthusiasm.  The 
truth  was  they  were  afraid  of  inaugurating  an  affair  of 
that  sort.  There  was  scarcely  a  man  in  the  place  but 
had  at  some  time  in  his  life  felt  the  despotic  tyranny  of  a 
vigilance  committee.  Though  they  felt  that  such  an 
organization  was  the  only  way  to  cope  with  the  prevail- 
ing trouble  they  cordially  dreaded  it. 

Then,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  to-do,  came  the  news  of 
Will's  rich  strike  in  the  hills.  He  had  discovered  a 
"  placer  "  which  was  yielding  a  profit  of  fabulous  dimen- 
sions. Of  how  rich  his  strike  really  was  no  one  seemed 
to  possess  any  very  definite  information.  In  the  calm 
light  of  day  men  spoke  of  a  handsome  living  wage,  but, 
as  the  day  wore  on,  and  Silas  Rocket's  whiskey  did  its 
work,  Will's  possible  wealth  generally  ended  in  wild 
visions  of  millions  of  dollars. 

Under  this  inspiring  news  the  commercial  mind  of  Barn- 
riff was  stirred;  it  was  lifted  out  of  the  despondency  into 
which  the  news  of  the  cattle-stealing  had  plunged  it.  It 
cleaned  off  its  rust  and  began  to  oil  its  joints  and  look  to 
its  tools.  With  the  first  news  it,  metaphorically,  "  reared 
up."  Then  Will  came  into  town  with  a  bag  of  dust  and 
nuggets,  and  the  optical  demonstration  set  lips  smacking 


The  Working  of  the  Public  Mind          189 

and  eyes  gleaming  with  envy  and  covetousness.  They 
asked  "  Where  ? "  But  Will  shook  his  head  with  a 
cunning  leer.  Let  them  go  and  seek  it  as  he  had  to  do, 
he  said.  And  "forthwith  his  advice  was  acted  upon  by 
no  less  than  a  dozen  men,  who  promptly  abandoned 
profitable  billets  for  the  pursuit  of  the  elusive  yellow  ore. 

Two  weeks  later  Will  again  visited  the  village.  This 
time  he  staggered  the  folks  by  taking  his  wife  to  Abe 
Horsley's  store,  and  spending  two  hundred  dollars  in  dry- 
goods  and  draperies  for  her.  He  flashed  a  "  wad  "  of  bills 
that  dazzled  the  lay- preacher's  eyes,  and  talked  of  buying 
a  ranch  and  building  himself  a  mansion  on  it. 

Nor  did  he  visit  the  saloon.  He  was  sober,  and  looked 
the  picture  of  health  and  cheerfulness.  He  talked  freely 
of  his  strike  and  its  possibilities.  He  swaggered  arid 
patronized  his  less  fortunate  fellow  townsmen,  until  he 
had  them  all  by  the  ears  and  set  them  tumbling  over 
each  other  to  get  out  after  the  gold. 

He  was  followed  and  watched.  Men  shadowed  his 
every  movement  in  the  hope  of  discovering  his  mine, 
but  he  was  too  clever  for  them.  They  kept  his  trail  to 
the  hills,  but  there  he  quickly  lost  them.  He  never  took 
the  same  route  twice,  and,  on  one  occasion,  traveled  for 
three  days  and  nights,  due  north,  before  entering  the 
foot-hills.  He  was  as  elusive  as  the  very  gold  his  pur- 
suers sought. 

One  by  one  the  would-be  prospectors  returned  dis- 
appointed to  the  village,  and  again  took  up  their  various 
works,  forced  to  the  sorry  consolation  of  listening  to  the 
tales  of  Will's  wealth,  and  watching  him  occasionally*run 
in  to  the  village  and  scatter  his  money  broadcast  amongst 
the  storekeepers. 


190  The  One- Way  Trail 

Of  all  Barnriff  Peter  Blunt  seemed  the  least  disturbed 
He  went  calmly  on  with  his  work,  smiling  gently  when- 
ever spoken  to  on  the  subject.  And  his  reply  was  invari- 
ably the  same. 

"  I'm  not  handling  '  placer/  "  he  told  Doc  Crombie 
one  day,  when  that  strenuous  person  was  endeavoring  to 
"  pump  "  him  on  the  subject.  "  I  allow  '  placers  '  are  easy, 
and  make  a  big  show.  But  my  *  meat '  is  high  grade  ore 
that's  going  to  work  for  years.  His  strike  don't  interest 
me  a  heap,  except  it  proves  there's  gold  in  plenty  around 
these  parts." 

Nor  could  he  be  drawn  into  further  discussion  in  the 
matter. 

Yet  his  interest  was  far  greater  than  he  admitted.  He 
was  puzzled,  too.  He  could  not  quite  make  out  how  he 
had  missed  the  signs  of  alluvial  deposit.  Both  scientific- 
ally and  practically  he  was  a  master  of  his  hobby,  in  spite 
of  local  opinion.  Yet  he  had  missed  this  rich  haul  under 
his  very  nose.  That  was  his  interest  as  a  gold  miner.  But 
there  was  another  side  to  it,  which  occupied  his  thoughts 
even  more.  And  it  was  an  interest  based  on  his  knowl- 
edge of  Will  Henderson,  and — various  other  things. 

He  was  out  at  a  temporary  camp  at  one  of  his  cuttings 
with  Elia,  who,  since  his  first  sojourn  with  the  prospector, 
now  frequently  joined  him  in  his  work.  They  had  just 
finished  dinner,  and  Peter  was  smoking  and  resting.  Elia 
was  perched  like  a  bird  on  an  upturned  box,  watching  his 
friend  with  cold,  thoughtful  eyes-  Suddenly  he  blurted 
out  an  irrelevant  remark. 

"  Folks  has  quit  chasin'  Will  Henderson,"  he  said. 

"  Eh  ?  " 

Peter  stared  at  him  intently.     He  was  becoming  accus- 


The  Working  of  the  Public  Mind         191 

tomed  to  the  curious  twists  of  the  lad's  warped  mind,  but 
he  wondered  what  he  was  now  driving  at. 

"  He's  too  slim  for  'em/'  Elia  went  on,  gazing  steadily 
into  the  fire.  "  He's  slim,  an' — bad.  But  he  ain't  as  bad 
as  me." 

Peter  smiled  at  the  naive  confession. 

"  You're  talking  foolishly,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  his  smile 
belied. 

"  Maybe  I  am.     Say,  I  could  track  Will." 

«  Well  ?  " 

"  I'm  goin'  to.  But  I'll  need  your  help.  See  here, 
Peter,  I'll  need  to  get  away  from  sis,  an'  if  I  get  out  with- 
out sayin',  she'll  set  half  the  village  lookin'  to  find  me.  If 
I'm  with  you,  she  won't.  See?  " 

Peter  nodded. 

"  But  why  do  you  want  to  track  him  ?  " 

"  'Cause  he's  bad — an'  ain't  got  no  '  strike.'  He's  on 
some  crook's  work.  Maybe  he's  cattle  duffin'.  I  mean 
to  find  out." 

Peter's  eyes  grew  cold  and  hard,  and  the  boy  watching 
him  read  what  he  saw  with  a  certainty  that  was  almost 
uncanny. 

"  You've  been  thinking  that  always,  too,"  he  said. 
"  You  don't  believe  in  his  strike,  neither,"  he  added 
triumphantly. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't,"  replied  Peter,  guardedly. 

"  Yes,  you  do,"  the  boy  persisted.  "  It's  because  he's 
bad.  Say,  he's  makin'  Eve  bad  takin'  that  money  he 
sends  her.  An'  she  don't  know  it." 

"  And  supposing  it's  as  you  say — and  you  found  out  ?  " 

"  The  boys  'ud  hang  him.  And— and  Eve  would  be 
quit  of  him." 


192  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  And  you'd  break  her  heart.  She's  your  sister,  anil 
would  sooner  cut  off  her  right  hand  than  hurt  you." 

Elia  laughed  silently.  There  was  a  fiendishness  in  his 
manner  that  was  absolutely  repulsive. 

"  Guess  you're  wrong,"  he  said  decidedly.  "  It  wouldn't 
break  Eve's  heart  worth  a  cent.  She  don't  care  a  cuss  for 
him,  since — since  that  night.  Eve's  a  heap  high-toned  in 
her  notions.  He  hit  her.  He  nigh  killed  her.  She  ain't 
one  to  tergit  easy."  He  laughed  again.  "  I  ken  sec  clear 
through  Eve.  If  Will  was  dead,  in  six  months  she'd 
marry  agin.  D'ye  know  who  ?  Jim  Thorpe.  She's  jest 
a  fool  gal.  She's  allus  liked  Jim  a  heap.  That  night's 
stickin'  in  her  head.  She  ain't  fergot  Jim — nor  you.  Say, 
d'you  know  what  she's  doin' ?  When  Will  sends  her 
money  she  sets  it  aside  an'  don't  touch  it.  She  don't  buy 
things  for  herself.  She  hates  it.  She  lives  on  her  sewin'. 
That's  Eve.  I  tell  you  she  hates  Will,  same  as  I  do,  an' 
I'm— I'm  glad." 

Peter  smiled  incredulously.  He  didn't  believe  that  the 
girl's  love  for  her  husband  was  dead.  Possibly  her  atti- 
tude deceived  the  lad,  as  well  it  might.  How  could  one 
of  his  years  understand  a  matter  of  this  sort  ?  But  he 
thought  long  before  he  replied  to  the  venomous  tirade. 
He  knew  he  must  stop  the  lad's  intention.  He  felt  that 
it  was  not  for  him  to  hunt  Will  down,  even — even  if  he 
were  a  cattle-thief. 

"  Look  here,  laddie,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  promised  you 
all  the  gold  I  found  in  this  place.  I'm  going  to  keep  that 
promise,  but  you've  got  to  do  something  for  me.  See? 
Now  I'm  not  going  to  say  you  can't  track  Will  if  you've 
a  notion  to.  But  I  do  say  this,  if  he's  on  the  crook,  and 
you  find  it  out,  you'll  promise  only  to  tell  me  and  no  one 


The  Working  of  the  Public  Mind         193 

else.  You  leave  Will  to  me.  I'm  not  going  to  have  you 
hanging  your  sister's  husband.  You've  got  to  promise 
me,  laddie,  or  you  don't  see  the  color  of  my  gold.  And 
don't  you  try  to  play  me  up,  either,  because  I'll  soon  know 
if  you  are.  Are  you  going  to  have  that  gold  ?  " 

The  boy's  face  was  obstinately  set.  Yet  Peter  realized 
that  his  cupidity  was  fighting  with  the  viciousness  of  his 
twisted  mind,  and  had  no  doubt  of  the  outcome.  The 
thought  of  seeing  Will  hang  was  a  delirious  joy  to  Elia. 
He  saw  the  man  he  hated  suffering,  writhing  in  agony  at 
the  end  of  a  rope,  and  dying  by  inches.  It  was  hard  to 
give  it  up.  Yet  the  thought  of  Peter's  gold — not  the  man 
himself,  of  whom,  in  his  strange  fashion,  he  was  fond — 
was  very  sweet.  Gold  !  It  appealed  to  him,  young  as  he 
was,  as  it  might  have  appealed  to  a  mind  forty  years  older ; 
the  mind  of  a  man  beaten  by  poverty  and  embittered  by 
a  long  life  of  hopeless  struggle.  Finally,  as  Peter  ex- 
pected, cupidity  won  the  day,  but  not  without  a  hot  verbal 
protest. 

"  You're  a  fool  man  some  ways,  Peter,"  the  boy  at  last 
declared  in  a  snarling  acquiescence.  "  What  for  d'you 
stop  me  ?  Gee,  you've  nothing  to  help  him  for.  Say,  I'd 

watch  him  die,  I'd  spit  at  him.     I'd — I'd "     But  his 

frenzy  of  evil  joy  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  find  further 
words.  He  broke  off,  and,  a  moment  later,  went  on 
coldly  :  "  All  right,  I'll  do  as  you  say.  Gee,  but  it  makes 
me  sick.  Eh  ?  No.  I  won't  tell  other  folk.  Nor  Eve 
—but — but  you're  goin'  to  give  me  that  gold,  an'  I'll  be 
rich.  Say,  I'll  be  able  to  buy  buggies,  an'  hosses,  an' 
ranches,  an'  things?  I'll  be  able  to  have  plenty  folks 
workin*  for  me  ?  Gee !  I'll  make  'em  work.  I'll  make 
'em  sick  to  death  when  I  get  that  gold. " 


194  The  One- Way  Trail 

Peter  rose  abruptly  to  return  to  work.  The  boy's  dis- 
eased mind  nauseated  him.  His  heart  revolted  with  each 
fresh  revelation  of  the  terrible  degeneracy  that  possessed 
the  lad. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  WOMAN'S  INSTINCT 

THE  women  of  Barnriff  were  as  keenly  alive  to  the 
prevailing  excitements  as  the  men.  Perhaps  they  were 
affected  differently,  but  this  was  only  natural.  The  vil- 
lage, with  its  doings,  its  gossip,  was  their  life.  The 
grinding  monotony  of  household  drudgery  left  them 
little  margin  for  expansion.  Their  horizon  possessed 
the  narrowest  limits  in  consequence.  Nor  could  it  be 
otherwise.  Most  of  them  lived  in  a  state  of  straining 
two  ends  across  an  impossible  gulf,  and  the  process  re- 
duced them  to  a  condition  of  pessimism  which  blinded 
them  to  matters  beyond  their  narrow  focus. 

But  just  now  the  cloud  had  lifted  for  a  moment  and  a 
flutter  of  excitement  gave  them  an  added  interest  in 
things,  and  relieved  them  from  the  burden  of  their  usual 
topics.  When  they  met  now  matters  of  housekeeping 
and  babies,  and  their  men-folk,  were  thrust  aside  for  the 
fresher  interests.  And  thus  Pretty  Wilkes,  blustering 
out  of  Abe  Horsley's  emporium  in  a  heat  of  indignation, 
found  little  sympathy  for  her  grievance  from  Mrs.  Rust  and 
Jane  Restless. 

"  Say,  I'll  give  Carrie  a  word  or  two  when  I  see  her," 
she  cried,  viciously  flourishing  a  roll  of  print  in  the  faces 
of  her  friends.  "  If  Abe  isn't  a  money  grubbing  skinflint 
I  just  don't  know  nothin'.  Look  at  that  stuff.  Do  I 
know  print  ?  Do  I  know  pea-shucks  !  He's  been  tryin' 
to  sell,  me  faded  goods  that  never  were  anything  else,  but 


1 96  The  One- Way  Trail 

faded,  at  twice  the  price  they  ever  were,  when  they 
couldn't  have  been  worth  half  of  it  if  the  color  hadn't 
faded  that  never  did,  because  there  wasn't  no  decent 
color  to  fade.  I'll " 

But  the  two  women's  attention  was  wandering.  They 
were  gazing  across  at  Eve's  house  where  Annie  Gay  was 
just  disappearing  through  the  doorway.  Pretty  saw  her, 
too,  and,  in  a  moment,  her  anger  merged  into  the  gen- 
eral interest. 

"  Say,  if  that  ain't  the  third  time  this  mornin',"  she 
exclaimed. 

"  Meanin'  Annie?"  inquired  Mrs.  Rust. 

"  Chasin'  dollars,"  added  Jane  Restless,  with  a  sniff. 

Pretty  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  asked,  and  promptly  answered  her- 
self. "  Guess  her  man's  taught  her.  However,  I  don't 
blame  her.  Dollars  are  hard  enough  to  come  by  in  this 
place.  Say,  they  tell  me  Eve's  gettin'  'em  in  hundreds." 

"  Thousands,"  said  Mrs.  Rust,  her  eyes  shining. 

"  Say,  ain't  she  lucky  ? "  exclaimed  Jane.  "  I  don't 
care  who  knows  it.  I  envy  her  good  an'  plenty.  Thou- 
sands !  Gee ! " 

"  I  don't  know  she's  to  be  envied  a  heap,"  said  Mrs. 
Rust.  "  I  'lows  all  men  has  their  faults,  but  Will  Hen- 
derson ain't  no  sort  of  bokay  of  virtues.  He's  a  drunken 
bum  anyway." 

"  An'  he  knocks  her  about,"  added  Pretty,  with  a  snap. 

"  But  he's  pilin'  up  the  dollars  for  her,"  Jane  urged, 
still  lost  in  serious  contemplation  of  the  fabulous  sums  her 
simple  mind  attributed  to  Eve's  fortune. 

But  Pretty  Wilkes  had  no  sympathy  with  such  excuses. 

"  Well,  dollars  or  no  dollars,  I  wouldn't  change  places 


A  Woman's  Instinct  197 

with  Eve  for  a  lot.  Guess  there's  some  folk  as  would  sell 
their  souls  for  dollars,"  she  said,  eyeing  Jane  Restless 
severely.  "  But  if  dollars  means  having  Will  Henderson 
behind  'em,  I'd  rather  get  out  an*  do  chores  all  my  life." 

"  Guess  you're  right,"  acquiesced  Mrs.  Rust,  thought- 
fully. "  Will's  a  whiskey  souse  an'  poker  playin'  bum. 
What  I  sez  is,  give  me  a  fool  man  like  my  Rust,  who's 
no  more  sense  than  to  beat  hot  iron,  an'  keep  out  o'  my 
way  when  I've  a  big  wash  doin'." 

4<  That's  so,"  agreed  Pretty.  "  An'  if  I'm  any  judge, 
that's  just  'bout  how  pore  Eve  feels." 

"  Pore  ?  "  sniggered  Jane. 

44  Yes,  *  pore.' "  Pretty's  manner  assumed  its  most  pro- 
nounced austerity.  "  That  gal  ain't  what  she  was,  an' — • 
an'  I  can't  get  the  rights  of  it.  What  for  does  she  keep 
right  on  with  her  needle,  with  all  those  dollars  ?  She 
don't  never  laff  now  for  sure.  There's  something  on  her 
mind,  and  it's  my  belief  it's  Will  Henderson.  Say,  Kate 
Crombie  told  me  that  Eve  never  spent  any  o'  those  dol- 
lars, an'  it  was  her  belief  she  ain't  never  touched  'em. 
She  says  it's  'cause  of  him.  She  says  it's  'cause  she  hates 
Will,  has  hated  him  ever  since  that  time  she  fell  agin  the 
coal  box.  That  was  Will.  Kate  said  so  ;  and  her  man 
fixed  Eve  up.  Say,  he  orter  been  lynched.  An'  if  the 
men-folk  won't  do  it,  then  we  ought  to.  It  makes  my 
blood  boil  thinkin'  of  it.  Pore  Eve  !  I  allus  liked  her. 
But  she's  fair  lost  her  snap  since  she's  got  married. 
Guess  it  'ud  bin  different  if  'she'd  married  Jim  Thorpe." 

"  I  don't  know,"  exclaimed  Jane,  with  some  antago- 
nism. "  I  don't  know.  Jim  Thorpe's  a  nice  seemin'  fel- 
ler enough,  someways,  but " 

"  But — what  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Rust,  eagerly. 


198  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Oh,  nothin*  much,  on'y  there's  queer  yarns  goin1  of 
that  same  Jim  Thorpe.  Restless  was  yarning  with  two 
of  McLagan's  boys,  who  are  out  huntin'  the  stolen  cattle. 
Well,  they  got  a  yarn  from  one  of  the  boys  of  the 
*  O  P.'s.'  Course  I  don't  know  if  it's  right,  but  this 
feller  seen  a  big  bunch  of  cattle  running  where  Jim  keeps 
his  stock.  An'  he  swore  positive  they  was  re-branded 
with  Jim's  mark.  You  know, '  *  *,'  which,  as  he  pointed 
out,  was  an  elegant  brand  for  covering  up  an  original 
brand.  Them  boys,  Restless  said,  was  off  to  look  up  the 
stock." 

Jane  told  her  story  with  considerable  significance,  and, 
for  the  moment,  her  two  friends  were  held  silent.  Then 
Pretty  Wilkes  gathered  herself  to  protest. 

"  But — but  Jim's  McLagan's  foreman.  He  don't 
need  to." 

"  That's  just  it.     Folks  wouldn't  suspect  him  easy." 

The  force  of  Jane's  argument  almost  carried  convic- 
tion. But  the  blacksmith's  wife  liked  Jim,  and  could 
not  let  Jane  carry  off  honors  so  easily. 

"  Jim  ain't  no  cattle-thief,"  she  said.  "  And,"  she  hur- 
ried on,  with  truly  feminine  logic,  "  if  he  was  he'd  be 
cleverer  than  that.  Mark  me,  Jim's  too  dead  honest. 
Now,  if  it  was  Will  Henderson " 

But  the  gossip  was  becoming  too  concentrated,  and 
Pretty  helped  it  into  a  fresh  channel. 

"  Talkin'  of  Will  Henderson,"  she  said,  "  Kate  Crombie 
told  me  the  Doc's  goin'  to  make  him  say  where  he  gets 
his  gold — in  the  interest  of  public  prosperity.  That's 
how  she  called  it.  That's  why  he  ain't  showed  up  in 
town  for  nigh  three  weeks.  Guess  he'll  go  on  keepii? 
away." 


A  Woman's  Instinct  199 

"  Doc's  up  again  Will  someways,"  said  Jane. 

"  Most  folks  is,"  added  Mrs.  Rust. 

"  Doc's  a  bad  one  to  get  up  against,"  observed  Pretty. 
"  If  he's  going  to  make  Will  talk,  our  men-folk  '11  all  get 
chasm'  gold.  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  Seems  to  me  a 
roast  o'  beef  in  the  cook-stove's  worth  a  whole  bunch  o' 
cattle  that  ain't  yours.  Well,  I'll  get  on  to  home,  an' 
get  busy  on  the  children's  summer  suitings — if  you  can 
call  such  stuff  as  Abe  sells  any  sort  o'  suitings  at  all. 
Good-bye,  girls." 

She  left  the  matrons  and  hurried  away.  A  moment 
later  Jane  Restless  went  on  to  the  butcher's,  while  Mrs. 
Rust  pottered  heavily  along  to  Smallbones'  store  to  obtain 
some  iron  bolts  for  her  husband. 

But  these  good  women  wronged  Annie  Gay  when  they 
hinted  at  time-serving  to  Eve  on  account  of  the  money 
her  husband  was  making.  Her  friendship  for  Eve  was 
of  much  too  long  standing,  and  much  too  disinterested 
for  it  to  be  influenced  by  the  other's  sudden  rise  to  pros- 
perity. As  a  matter  of  fact  it  made  her  rejoice  at  the 
girl's  sudden  turn  of  fortune.  She  was  cordially,  un- 
enviously  glad  of  it. 

She  found  Eve  hard  at  work  at  her  sewing-machine,  in 
the  midst  of  an  accumulation  of  dress  stuff,  such  as  might 
well  have  appalled  one  unused  to  the  business.  But  the 
busy  rush  of  the  machine,  and  the  concentrated  attitude 
of  the  sempstress,  displayed  neither  confusion  nor  worry 
beyond  the  desire  to  complete  that  which  she  was  at 
work  on. 

Eve  glanced  up  quickly  as  Annie  came  in.  She  gave 
her  a  glance  of  welcome,  and  silently  bent  over  her  work 
again.  Annie  possessed  herself  of  a  chair  and  watched. 


200  The  One-Way  Trail 

She  liked  watching  Eve  at  work.  There  was  such  a 
whole-hearted  determination  in  her  manner,  such  a  busi- 
nesslike directness  and  vigor. 

But  just  now  there  was  more  to  hold  her  interest.  The 
girl  was  not  looking  well.  Her  sweet  young  face  was 
looking  drawn,  and,  as  she  had  told  her  that  very  morn- 
ing, she  looked  like  a  woman  who  had  gone  through  all 
the  trials  of  rearing  a  young  family  on  insufficient  means. 
Now  she  was  here  she  meant  to  have  it  out  with  Eve. 
She  was  going  to  abandon  her  role  of  sympathetic  on- 
looker. She  was  going  to  delve  below  the  surface,  and 
learn  the  reason  of  Eve's  present  unsmiling  existence. 

All  this  she  thought  while  the  busy  machine  rattled 
down  the  cloth  seams  of  Jane  Restless's  new  fall  suit. 
The  low  bent  head  with  its  soft  wavy  hair  held  her  earnest 
attention,  the  bending  figure,  so  lissome,  yet  so  frail  as  it 
swayed  to  the  motion  of  the  treadle.  She  watched  and 
watched,  waiting  for  the  work  to  be  finished,  her  heart 
aching  for  the  woman  whom  she  knew  to  be  so  un- 
happy. 

How  she  would  have  begun  her  inquiries  she  did  not 
know.  Nor  did  she  pause  to  think.  It  was  no  use.  She 
knew  Eve's  proud,  self-reliant  disposition,  and  the  possi- 
bilities of  her  resenting  any  intrusion  upon  her  private 
affairs.  But  she  was  spared  all  trouble  in  this  direction, 
for  suddenly  the  object  of  her  solicitude  looked  up,  raised 
her  needle,  and  drew  the  skirt  away  from  the  machine. 

"  Thank  goodness  that's  done,"  she  exclaimed.  Then 
she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  stretched  her  arms  and 
cased  her  aching  back.  "  Annie,  I'm  sick  of  it  all.  Sick 
to  death.  It's  grind,  grind,  grind.  No  lightness,  nothing 
but  dark,  uncheered  work."  She  turned  her  eyes  to  the 


A  Woman's  Instinct  201 

window  with  a  look  of  sorrowful  regret.  "  Look  at  the 
sunlight  outside.  It's  mocking,  laughing.  Bidding  us 
come  out  and  gather  fresh  courage  to  go  on,  because  it 
knows  we  can't.  I  mean,  what  is  the  use  of  it  if  we  do 
go  out  ?  It  is  like  salt  water  to  the  thirsty  man.  He 
feels  the  moisture  he  so  needs,  and  then  realizes  the 
maddening  parching  which  is  a  hundred  times  worse  than 
his  original  state.  Life's  one  long  drear,  and — and  I 
sometimes  wish  it  were  all  over  and  done  with." 

Annie's  pretty  eyes  opened  wide  with  astonishment. 
Here  was  the  self-reliant  Eve  talking  like  the  veriest 
weakling.  But  quick  as  thought  she  seized  her  oppor- 
tunity. 

"  But,  Eve,  surely  you  of  any  folk  has  no  right  to  get 
saying  things.  You,  with  your  husband  heapin'  up  the 
dollars.  Why,  my  dear,  you  don't  need  to  do  all  this. 
I  mean  this  dressmakin'.  You  can  set  right  out  to  do 
just  those  things  you'd  like  to  do,  an'  leave  the  rest  for 
folks  that  has  to  do  it." 

She  rose  from  her  chair  and  came  to  her  friend's  side, 
and  gently  placed  an  arm  about  her  shoulders. 

"  My  dear,"  she  went  on  kindly,  "  I  came  here  now  to 
talk  straight  to  you.  I  didn't  know  how  I  was  to  begin 
for  sure,  but  you've  saved  me  the  trouble.  I've  watched 
you  grow  thinner  an'  thinner.  I've  sure  seen  your  poor 
cheeks  fadin',  an'  your  eyes  gettin*  darker  and  darker  all 
round  'em.  I've  seen,  too,  and  worst  of  all,  you  don't 
smile  any  now.  You  don't  never  jolly  folks.  You  just 
look,  look  as  though  your  grave  was  in  sight,  and — and 
you'd  already  give  my  man  the  contract.  I  - 

The  girl's  gentle,  earnest,  half-humorous  manner 
brought  a  shadowy  smile  to  Eve's  eyes  as  she  raised  them 


202  The  One- Way  Trail 

to  the  healthy  face  beside  her.  And  Annie  felt  shrewdly 
that  she'd  somehow  struck  the  right  note. 

"  Don't  worry  about  me,  Annie,"  she  said.  "  I'm  good 
for  a  few  years  yet."  Then  her  eyes  returned  to  the 
gloomy  seriousness  which  seemed  to  be  natural  to  them 
now.  "  I  don't  know,  I  s'pose  I've  got  the  miserables,  or 
— or  something.  P'raps  a  dash  of  that  sunlight  would  do 
me  good.  And — yet — I  don't  think  so." 

Suddenly  she  freed  herself  almost  roughly  from  Annie's 
embracing  arm  and  stood  up.  She  faced  the  girl  almost 
wildly,  and  leaned  against  the  work-table.  Her  eyes  grew 
hot  with  unshed  tears.  Her  face  suddenly  took  on  a  look 
of  longing,  of  yearning.  Her  whole  attitude  was  one  of 
appeal.  She  was  a  woman  who  could  no  longer  keep  to 
herself  the  heart  sickness  she  was  suffering. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  am  sick.  It's  not  bodily  though, sure, 
sure.  Oh,  sometimes  I  think  my  heart  will  break,  only — 
only  I  suppose  that's  not  possible,"  she  added  whimsically. 
"  Ah,  Annie,  you've  got  a  good  man.  You  love  him,  and 
he  loves  you.  No  hardship  would  be  a  trouble  to  you, 
because  you've  got  him.  I  haven't  got  my  man,  and," 
she  added  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  don't  want  him.  That's  it ! 
Stare,  child !  Stare  and  stare.  You're  horrified — and  so 
am  I.  But  I  don't  want  him.  I  don't !  I  don't !  I 
don't !  I  hate  him.  I  loathe  him.  Say  it,  Annie.  You 
must  think  it.  Every  right-minded  woman  must  think 
it.  I'm  awful.  I'm  wicked.  I !  " 

She  broke  off  on  the  verge  of  hysteria  and  struggled 
for  calmness.  Annie  sensibly  kept  silent,  and  presently 
the  distracted  woman  recovered  herself. 

"  I  won't  say  anything  like  that  again,  dear.  I  mustn't, 
ibut — but  I  had  to  say  it  to  some  one.  You  don't  know 


A  Woman's  Instinct  203 

what  it  is  to  keep  all  that  on  your  mind  and  not  be  able 
to  tell  any  one.  But  it's  out  now,  and  I — I  feel  better, 
perhaps." 

Annie  came  to  her  side  and  placed  her  arm  about  her 
waist.  Her  action  was  all  sympathy. 

"  I  came  here  to  listen,"  she  said  kindly.  "  I  knew 
there  was  things  troublin'.  You  can  tell  me  anything — 
or  nothing.  And,  Eve,  you'll  sure  get  my  meanin'  when  I 
say  the  good  God  gave  me  two  eyes  to  use,  an'  sometimes 
to  sleep  with.  Well,  dear,  I  mostly  sleep  at  nights." 

Eve  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  a  failure. 

"  You're  a  good  woman,  Annie,  and — and  I  don't  know 
how  I'd  have  got  on  all  this  time  without  you.  But  sit 
you  down  and  listen.  I've  begun  now,  and — and  I  must 
go  on.  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  quite  why,  but  I  want  to  tell 
it  to  somebody,  and — and — I'll  feel  better.  You  said  I 
don't  need  to  do  all  this,"  she  hurried  on,  pointing  at  the 
dressmaking.  "  I  do.  It's  the  only  thing  that  keeps  me 
from  running  away,  and  breaking  my  marriage  vows  alto- 
gether. Will's  got  no  love  for  me,  and  I — my  love  for 
him  died  weeks  ago.  Maybe  with  those  sharp  eyes  of 
yours  you've  seen  it." 

Annie  nodded  and  Eve  went  on. 

"  I'm  frightened,  Annie,  and — and  I  don't  know  why. 
Will's  a  different  man,  but  it's  not  that.  No,"  she  added 
thoughtfully,  "  somehow  I'm  not  frightened  of  him  now. 
I — I  hate  him  too  much.  But  I'm  frightened,  and- 
She  flung  herself  upon  the  worn  settee,  and  lifted  a  pair 
of  gloomy  eyes  to  her  friend's  face.  "  I  can  never  touch 
his  money,  nor  the  things  he  buys.  I  want  nothing  from 
him,  either  for  Elia  or  myself.  I'm  married  to  him  and 
that  I  can't  undo.  Would  to  God  I  could !  But  I  can 


204  The  One- Way  Trail 

never  take  anything  from  the  man  I  do  not  love,  and  my 
love  for  Will  is  dead — dead.  No,  Annie,  I  must  go  on 
working  in  my  own  way,  and  I  only  hope  and  pray  my 
husband  will  keep  away.  Maybe  he  will.  Maybe  when 
he's  made  a  big  pile  out  of  his — claim  he  will  go  away 
altogether,  and  leave  me  in  peace  with  Elia.  I'm 
hoping  for  it — praying  for  it.  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear, 
what  a  mistake  I've  made!  You  don't  know.  You 
can't  guess." 

There  was  a  silence  for  some  moments.  Annie  was 
thinking  hard.  Suddenly  she  put  a  sharp  question. 

"  Tell  me,  Eve.  This  fear  you  was  saying.  How  can 
you  be  frightened  ?  What  of  ?  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  effect  of  her  words.  Eve's 
brown  eyes  suddenly  dilated.  She  looked  like  a  hunted 
woman.  And  Annie  shrank  at  the  sight  of  it. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  with  a  shiver.  "  I — I  can't 
describe  it.  It's  to  do  with  Will.  It's  to  do  with  " — 
she  glanced  about  her  fearfully — "  his  money,  his  gold 
find.  Don't  question  me,  because  I  don't  know  why  I'm 
afraid.  I  think  I  first  got  afraid  through  Elia.  He's  a 
queer  lad — you  don't  know  how  queer  he  is  at  times. 
Well " — she  swallowed  as  though  with  a  dry  throat — 
"  well,  from  the  first,  when — when  Will  found  gold  Elia 
laughed.  And — and  every  time  we  speak  about  it  he 
laughs,  and  will  say  nothing.  Oh,  I  wish  I  knew." 

"  Knew  what  ?  " 

Annie's  question  came  with  a  curious  abruptness. 
Eve  stared.  And  when  she  spoke  it  was  almost  to 
herself. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  want  to  know.  Only  I — I  wish 
I  knew." 


A  Woman's  Instinct  205 

Annie  suddenly  came  over  to  her  friend's  side.  She 
took  her  hands  in  hers  and  squeezed  them  sympa- 
thetically. 

"  Eve,  I  don't  guess  I've  got  anything  to  say  that  can 
help  you.  But  whenever  you  want  to  talk  things  that'll 
relieve  you,  why,  you  can  just  talk  all  you  like  to  me. 
But  don't  you  talk  of  these  things  to  any  other  folk. 
Sure,  sure,  girl,  don't  you  do  it.  You  can  just  trust  me, 
'cause  I've  got  so  bad  a  memory.  Other  folks  hasn't. 
I'll  be  goin'  now  to  get  my  man's  dinner.  Good-bye." 

She  bent  over  and  kissed  the  girl's  thin  cheek  with  a 
hearty  smack.  But,  as  she  left  the  house,  there  was  a 
grave  light  such  as  was  rarely,  if  ever,  seen  in  her  merry 
eyes. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BRANDED 

THERE  is  no  calm  so  peaceful,  no  peace  so  idyllic  as 
that  which  is  to  be  found  on  a  Western  ranch  on  a  fine 
summer  evening.  Life  at  such  a  time  and  in  such  a  place 
is  at  its  smoothest,  its  almost  Utopian  perfection.  The 
whole  atmosphere  is  laden  with  a  sense  of  good-fellowship 
between  men  and  between  beasts.  The  day's  work  is 
over,  and  men  idle  and  smoke,  awaiting  the  pleasures  of 
an  ample  fare  with  appetites  healthily  sharp-set,  and 
lounge  contentedly,  contemplating  their  coming  even- 
ing's amusement  with  untroubled  minds. 

And  the  beasts  which  are  their  care.  Fed  to  repletion 
on  the  succulent  prairie  grasses  they  know  nothing  but 
contentment.  The  shadow  of  the  butcher's  knife  has  no 
terrors  for  them.  They  live  only  for  their  day.  And 
the  evening,  when  their  stomachs  are  full  and  repose  is  in 
sight,  is  the  height  of  their  contentment. 

Then,  too,  Nature  herself  is  at  her  gentlest.  The  fierce 
passion  of  heat  has  passed,  the  harsher  winds  have  died 
down,  the  worrying  insects  are  already  seeking  repose. 
There  is  nothing  left  to  harry  the  human  mind  and 
temper.  It  is  peace — perfect  peace. 

It  was  such  an  evening  on  the  ranch  of  the  "  AZ's." 
All  these  conditions  were  prevailing,  except  that  the  mind 
of  Dan  McLagan,  the  owner,  was  disturbed.  Six  of  his 
boys  were  out  on  the  special  duty  of  searching  for  stolen 
cattle.  This  was  bad  enough,  but  Dan  was  fretting  and 


Branded  207 

chafing  at  the  unpleasant  knowledge  that  the  epidemic  of 
cattle  stealing  was  spreading  all  too  quickly. 

He  was  never  a  patient  man.  His  Celtic  nature  still 
retained  all  its  native  irritability,  and  his  foreman,  Jim 
Thorpe,  had  ample  demonstration  of  it.  He  had  spent  sev- 
eral uncomfortable  half  hours  that  day  with  his  employer. 
He  was  responsible  for  the  working  of  the  ranch.  It  was 
his  to  see  that  everything  ran  smoothly,  and  though  the 
depredations  of  cattle-thieves  could  hardly  come  under 
the  heading  of  his  responsibilities,  yet  no  employer  can 
resist  the  temptation  of  visiting  his  chagrin  on  the  head 
of  his  most  trusted  servant. 

The  hue  and  cry  had  been  in  progress  for  several  weeks, 
and  as  yet  no  result  of  a  hopeful  nature  had  been  ob- 
tained. And,  in  consequence,  at  every  opportunity  Dan 
McLagan  cursed  forcibly  into  the  patient  ears  of  his 
foreman. 

Now,  Jim  was  enjoying  a  respite.  Dan  had  retired  to 
his  house  for  supper,  and  he  was  waiting  for  his  to  be 
served.  He  was  down  at  the  corrals,  leaning  on  the 
rails,  watching  the  stolid  milch  cows  nuzzling  and  de- 
vouring their  evening  hay.  His  humor  was  interested. 
They  had  eaten  all  day.  They  would  probably  eat  until 
their  silly  eyes  closed  in  sleep.  He  was  not  sure  they 
wouldn't  continue  to  chew  their  cud  amidst  their  bovine 
dreams.  Each  cow  was  already  balloon-like,  but  the 
inflation  was  still  going  on.  And  each  beast  was  still 
ready  to  horn  the  others  off  in  its  greediness. 

He  thought,  whimsically,  that  the  humbler  hog  was 
not  given  a  fair  position  in  the  ranks  of  gluttony.  Surely 
the  bovine  was  the  "  limit  "  in  that  basest  of  all  passions. 
One  cow  held  his  attention  more  particularly  than  the 


208  The  One- Way  Trail 

others.  She  was  small,  and  black  and  white,  and  her 
build  suggested  Brittany  extraction.  She  ran  a  sort  of 
free  lance  piracy  all  round  the  corral.  Her  sharp  horns 
were  busy  whenever  she  saw  a  sister  apparently  enjoying 
herself  too  cordially.  And  in  every  case  she  drove  the 
bigger  beast  out  and  seized  upon  her  choicest  morsel. 

Nor  could  he  help  thinking  how  little  was  the  differ- 
ence between  man  and  beast.  It  was  only  in  its  ob- 
jective. The  manner  was  much  the  same.  Yes,  and 
the  very  means  employed  created  in  him  an  impression 
favorable  to  the  hapless  quadruped.  Surely  their  battle 
for  existence  was  more  honest,  more  natural. 

His  mood  was  pessimistic,  even  for  a  man  who  sees 
the  traffic  which  is  his  keenest  interest  threatened  by  a 
marauding  gang  of  land  pirates.  Maybe  it  was  the 
wearing  hours  of  McLagan's  nagging  that  caused  his 
mood.  Maybe  it  was  an  inclination  brought  about  by 
the  long  train  of  disappointments  that  had  been  his  as 
he  trod  his  one-way  trail.  Maybe,  as  the  cynical  might 
suggest,  his  liver  was  out  of  order.  However,  whether 
it  was  sheer  pessimism,  or  even  the  shadow  cast  by  ap- 
proaching events,  he  felt  it  would  be  good  when  the 
evening  was  past,  and  he  could  forget  things  in  the 
blessed  unconsciousness  of  sleep. 

But  his  meditations  were  suddenly  disturbed.  The 
ranch  dogs  started  their  inharmonious  chorus,  and  experi- 
ence taught  him  that  there  are  only  two  things  which 
will  stir  the  lazy  ranch  dog  to  vocal  protest ;  the  advent  of 
the  disreputable  sun-downer,  and  the  run  of  driven  cattle. 

He  quickly  discovered,  at  sight  of  a  thick  rising 
dust  to  the  westward  of  the  ranch,  that  the  present  dis- 
turbance was  not  caused  by  any  ragged  "  bum."  Cattle 


Branded  2oy 

were  coming  in  to  the  yards,  and  it  needed  little  imagi- 
nation on  his  part  to  guess  that  some  of  the  boys  on 
special  duty  were  running  in  lost  stock. 

His  pessimism  vanished  in  a  moment,  and  in  its  place  a 
keen  enthusiasm  stirred.  If  it  were  some  of  the  lost 
stock  then  they  would  probably  have  news  of  the  thieves. 
Maybe  even  they'd  made  a  capture.  He  hurried  at  once 
in  the  direction  of  the  approaching  cattle.  Nor  was  he 
alone  in  his  desire  to  learn  the  news.  Every  man  had 
left  his  supper  at  the  bunk  house  to  greet  the  newcomers. 

The  incoming  herd  was  still  some  distance  away,  but 
the  bunch  was  considerable  judging  by  the  cloud  of  dust. 
Jim  found  himself  amongst  a  group  of  the  boys,  and 
each  and  all  of  them  were  striving  to  ascertain  the  iden- 
tity of  those  who  were  in  charge. 

"  Ther's  two  o'  them,  sure,"  exclaimed  Barney  Job, 
after  a  long  scrutiny.  "  Leastways  I  ken  make  out  two. 
The  durned  fog's  that  thick  you  couldn't  get  a  glimpse 
o'  Peddick's  flamin*  hair  in  it." 

"  Cut  it  out,  Barney,"  cried  the  lantern- faced  owner  of 
the  fiery  red  hair.  "  Anyways  a  sight  o'  my  hair  'ud  be 
more  encouragin'  than  your  ugly  '  map.'  Seems  to  me, 
bein'  familiar  with  my  hair  '11  make  the  fires  of  hell, 
you'll  likely  see  later,  come  easier  to  you  when  they  git 
busy  fumigatin'  your  carkis." 

"  Gee  !  that's  an  elegant  word,"  cried  Hoosier  Pete,  a 
stripling  of  youthful  elderliness.  "  Guess  you've  bin 
spellin'  out  Gover'ment  Reg'lations." 

"Yep.  San'tary  ones.  Barney's  thinkin'  o'  gettin' 
scoured  in  a  kettle  o'  hot  water,"  said  Peddick,  with 
a  laugh. 

0  Needs  it,"  muttered  a  surly  Kentuckian. 


210  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Hey  !  "  interrupted  Barney,  quite  undisturbed  by  his 
comrades'  remarks  upon  his  necessity  for  careful  ablu- 
tions. "  Them's  Joe  Bloc  an'  Dutch  Kemp.  I'd  git 
Dutch's  beard  anywher's.  You  couldn't  get  thro'  it  with 
a  hay  rake.  Sure,"  he  went  on,  shading  his  eyes, "  that's 
them  an'  they're  drivin'  them  forty  three-year-olds  that 
was  pinched  up  at  the  back  o'  the  northern  spurs. 
Say " 

But  he  broke  off,  concentrating  upon  the  oncoming 
cattle  even  more  closely.  Everybody  was  doing  the 
same.  Jim  had  also  recognized  the  two  cow-punchers. 
And  he,  like  the  rest,  was  wondering  and  speculating  as 
to  the  news  that  was  to  be  poured  into  their  curious  ears 
directly. 

The  cattle  were  running  and  it  was  evident  the  two 
boys  were  in  a  hurry  for  their  supper,  or  to  deliver  their 
news.  The  waiting  crowd  cleared  the  way.  And  one  of 
the  boys,  at  Jim's  order,  hurried  down  to  the  corrals  to 
receive  them.  He  stood  by,  joined  by  several  others,  to 
head  the  beasts  into  their  quarters. 

They  came  with  a  rush  of  shuffling,  plodding  feet 
bellowing  protest  at  the  hurry,  or  welcome  at  sight  of 
the  piles  of  hay  that  one  or  two  of  the  men  were  already 
pitching  into  the  corral  for  their  consumption.  And  in 
less  than  five  minutes  they  were  housed  for  the  night. 

Then  it  was  that  Jim  greeted  the  two  cow-punchers. 

"  The  boss'll  be  pleased,  boys.  Glad  to  see  you  back, 
Dutchy,  and  you,  too,  Joe,  Guess  you'll  have  things  to 
report  so " 

The  boys  were  out  of  their  saddles  and  loosening  their 
cinchas.  They  eyed  him  curiously  without  attempting 
to  acknowledge  his  greeting  The  rest  of  the  men  had 


Branded  211 

gathered  round.  And  now  it  was  noticeable  that  while 
they  pointedly  ignored  their  foreman,  the  newcomers, 
equally  markedly,  exchanged  friendly  nods  and  grins  with 
their  colleagues.  Just  for  a  moment  Jim  wondered. 
Then  annoyance  added  sharpness  to  his  words.  He  was 
not  accustomed  to  being  treated  in  this  cool  fashion. 

"  You  best  come  right  up  to  my  shack  and  report,"  he 
said.  "  You  can  get  supper  after.  I'll  need  to  know  at 
once " 

11  Best  get  a  look  at  them  beasties  fust,"  said  Joe,  in  a 
harsh  tone,  and  with  an  unmistakable  laugh. 

"  Yep,"  sniggered  Dutchy,  with  an  insolent  look  into 
Jim's  face. 

The  studied  insult  of  both  the  men  was  so  apparent 
that  all  eyes  were  turned  curiously  upon  the  foreman. 
For  Jim  Thorpe  was  popular.  More  than  popular.  He 
was  probably  the  best-liked  man  on  the  range.  Then, 
too,  Jim,  in  their  experience,  was  never  one  to  take 
things  "  lying  down." 

His  dark,  clear  brows  drew  ominously  together,  and  his 
eyes  narrowed  unpleasantly. 

"  Say,  the  sun's  hurt  you  some,  boys,  hasn't  it  ?  "  he 
asked  sharply.  Then  he  went  on  rapidly,  his  teeth  clip- 
ping with  each  sentence :  "  See  here,  get  right  up  to  my 
shack.  I'll  take  that  report.  And  I  don't  need  any  talk 
about  it.  Get  me  ?  " 

But  though  the  men  remained  silent  the  insolence  of 
their  eyes  answered  him.  Dutchy  slung  his  saddle  over 
his  shoulder  and  stood  while  Joe  picked  up  his  belong- 
ings. And  in  those  moments  his  eyes  unflinchingly  fixed 
his  foreman,  and  a  smile,  an  infuriating  smile  of  contempt, 
slowly  broke  over  his  heavy  Teutonic  features. 


2 1 2  The  One- Way  Trail 

It  was  too  much  for  Jim.  He  pointed  at  his  shack. 
<"  Hustle!"  he  cried. 

But  before  the  men  had  time  to  move  away,  two  of  the 
boys,  who  had  elected  to  obey  their  comrade's  suggestion, 
came  running  up  from  the  corral. 

"  Say,  boss,"  cried  Barney,  excitedly,  "  get  a  peek  at 
their  brands ! " 

Nor  was  there  any  mistaking  the  man's  anxiety — even 
awe.  There  was  a  general  rush  for  the  corral.  And  by 
the  time  Jim  reluctantly  reached  the  fences  he  heard 
smothered  exclamations  on  all  sides  of  him.  He  came  to 
the  barred  gateway  and  peered  over  at  the  cattle  inside. 

The  first  thing  that  caught  his  eye  was  the  broadside  of 
a  big  steer.  On  its  shoulder  was  a  brand,  at  which  he 
stared  first  incredulously,  but  presently  with  horrified 
amazement.  It  was  the  familiar  "  *  *."  He  looked  at 
others.  Everywhere  he  saw  his  own  brand,  "  double- 
star  twice/'  as  it  was  popularly  known,  on  cattle  which  he 
recognized  at  a  glance  as  being  some  of  his  employer's 
finest  half-bred  Polled  Angus  stock. 

His  feelings  at  that  moment  were  indescribable.  As- 
tonishment, incredulity,  anger  all  battled  for  place,  and 
the  outcome  of  them  all  was  a  laugh  at  once  mirthless 
and  angry.  He  turned  on  the  two  men  waiting  with  their 
shouldered  saddles. 

"  I'll  take  your  report — up  at  the  shack."  And  he 
pointed  at  his  hut,  fifty  yards  away. 

The  men  moved  off  obediently.  And  Jim.  left  to  his 
own  unpleasant  thoughts,  followed  them  up. 

Half-way  to  the  hut  he  was  joined  by  McLagan.  The 
Irishman  had  seen  the  cattle  come  in,  and  was  anxious  to 
learn  the  particulars.  His  manner,  after  his  recent  ill- 


Branded  213 

humor,  was  almost  jocular.  He  realized  that  these  were 
cattle  he  had  lost. 

"  Say,  Jim,  those  boys  have  picked  up  a  dandy  bunch 
of  the  lost  ones.  How  many  ?  " 

But  the  foreman's  humor  did  not  by  any  means  fit  in 
with  his  employer's. 

"  Didn't  count  'em,"  he  said  shortly.  "  I'm  just  getting 
the  boys'  report.  You  best  come  along.  It  looks  like 
being  interesting."  Just  for  a  moment  a  half-smile  lit  his 
face. 

Dan  glanced  at  him  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eyes  and  fell 
in  beside  him.  His  foreman's  manner  was  new,  and  he 
wondered  at  it.  However,  Jim  made  no  effort  to  open 
his  lips  again  until  they  reached  the  hut. 

When  they  came  up  the  boys  were  waiting  outside  the 
door.  Jim  promptly  led  the  way  in,  angrily  conscious  of 
the  meaning  looks  which  passed  between  them. 

Once  inside,  and  Dan  had  seated  himself  on  the  bed, 
Jim  called  the  two  men  in. 

11  Come  along  in,  boys,"  he  cried,  and  his  manner  had 
become  more  usual.  He  understood  their  attitude  now, 
and  somehow  he  found  himself  sympathizing  with  their 
evident  suspicions.  After  all,  he  had  grown  into  a 
thorough  cattleman.  "  Speak  up,  lads.  Let's  get  the 
yarn.  The  boss  wants  to  hear  where  you  found  those 
cattle  of  his — re-branded  with  my  own  brand." 

McLagan  sat  up  with  a  jerk. 

"Eh?" 

His  face  was  a  study.  But  chiefly  it  expressed  a  belief 
that  he  was  being  laughed  at.  Jim  looked  squarely  into 
his  half-resentful  eyes  and  nodded. 

"  Those  cattle  they've  just  brought  in  are  branded  with 


214  The  One- Way  Trail 

my  brand.  You  know  the  brand.  You  helped  me  de- 
sign it.  «  *  *.'  And,"  he  added  whimsically,  "  it's  a 
mighty  fine  one  for  obliterating  original  brands,  now  I 
come  to  study  it." 

But  Dan  turned  sharply  on  the  two  men. 

"  Let's  hear  it,"  he  said ;  and  there  was  no  pleasant- 
ness  in  his  tone. 

It  was  Joe  Bloc  who  took  the  lead.  Dutchy,  though 
speaking  the  language  of  the  West  freely  enough,  had,  in 
moments  of  involved  explanation,  still  the  Teutonic  fail- 
ing of  involving  the  verb. 

«•  You  see,  boss,"  said  Joe,  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  the 
foreman's  unflinching  face,  "  we  got  the  news  in  Barnriff. 
We'd  been  out  for  nigh  four  days,  and  we'd  decided  to 
ride  in  here  to  get  fresh  plugs.  Ours  wus  good  an'  done, 
an'  we'd  set  'em  in  Doc  Crombie's  barn,  an'  had  got  over 
to  the  saloon  for  a  feed." 

"Feed?" 

But  Dan's  sarcasm  had  no  effect. 

"  That's  how,  boss.  Wai,  right  in  the  bar  was  one  of 
the  '  <O>  P '  boys — one  of  old  man  Blundell's  hands." 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  He'd  got  a  tidy  yarn,  sure,  anf  seein'  we  was  your 
hands,  an'  his  yarn  was  to  do  with  your  stock,  he  handed 
ft  to  us  with  frills.  He'd  just  got  in  from  the  hills,  wher' 
he'd  been  trailin'.  He  said  he'd  run  into  Jim  Thorpe's 
stock,  tucked  away  in  as  nice  a  hollow  of  sweet  grass  as 
you'd  find  this  side  of  Kentucky.  Wai,  he  hadn't  no  sus- 
picion, seein'  whose  beasties  they  were,  an'  he  was  for 
makin'  back.  He'd  started,  he  said,  when  somethin' 
struck  him.  Y'see  he  guessed  of  a  sudden  it  was  a 
mighty  big  bunch  for  a  ranch-foreman  to  be  running,  an' 


Branded  21  j 

ther'  was  such  a  heap  o'  half-bred  Polled  Angus  amongst 
'em.  Wai,  seein'  that  kind  was  your  specialty,  he  just 
guessed  he'd  ride  round  'em  an'  git  a  peek  at  the  brands. 
Say,  as  he  said,  the  game  was  clear  out  at  once.  They'd 
every  son-of-a-cow  got 4  *  *  '  on  'em,  but  nigh  haf  wus 
re-brands  over  ari  blottiri  out  the  old  one.  He  got  to 
work  an'  cut  out  an'  roped  one  o'  them  half-breeds,  an' 
hevin'  threw  him,  got  down  an'  looked  close.  The 
original  brand  had  been  burned  out,  an'  the  «  *  *  ' 
whacked  deep  over  it.  That's  just  all,  boss.  We  got 
out  an'  brought  the  bunch  in — that  is,  them  we  knew 
belonged  to  the  '  AZ's.'  " 

An  ominous  silence  followed  the  finish  of  his  story. 
The  smile  on  Jim's  face  seemed  to  be  frozen  and  mean- 
ingless. Dan  was  staring  intently  at  his  boots  and  flick- 
ing them  with  his  quirt.  Joe  turned  his  head  and  ex- 
changed a  smile  of  meaning  with  Dutchy,  and  both  men 
shifted  into  an  easy  pose,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Well, 
we've  found  the  cattle  duffer  for  you."  The  moments 
passed  heavily,  then  suddenly  Dan  looked  up.  There 
was  storm  in  his  eyes.  He  had  forgotten  the  cow- 
punchers. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  waitin'  for  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Get 
out!" 

It  was  all  the  thanks  the  men  got  for  the  unctuously 
given  story,  and  their  hard  work. 

They  vanished  rapidly  through  the  door,  and  hastened 
to  air  their  grievance  and  repeat  their  story  with  added 
"  frills  "  to  ready  ears  at  the  bunk  house. 

Jim  gazed  through  the  doorway  after  them,  and  Dan 
furtively  watched  him  for  some  silent  moments. 

"Well?  "he  said  at  last. 


2l6  The  One- Way  Trail 

The  tone  of  his  inquiry  was  peculiar.  There  was  no 
definite  anger  in  it,  nor  was  it  a  simple  question.  Yet  it 
stung  the  man  to  whom  it  was  addressed  in  a  way  that 
set  his  teeth  gritting,  and  the  blood  running  hot  to  his 
head. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  retorted.  And  their  eyes  met  with  the 
defiance  of  men  of  big  physical  courage. 

Dan  was  the  first  to  avert  his  gaze,  but  it  was  only  to 
hide  that  which  lay  behind  in  his  thoughts.  And  when 
he  spoke  there  was  a  harsh  smile  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  ha'  ye  got  to  say  to  " — he  jerked  a  thumb  in 
the  direction  of  the  bunk  house — "  that  feller's  yarn  ?  " 

Jim's  answer  was  unhesitating.  He  shrugged  as  he 
spoke. 

"  Guess  there's  no  definite  reason  to  doubt  it.  There 
are  the  cattle.  They're  all  re-branded  with  my  brand. 
I've  seen  'em.  The  hand  that  did  it  was  a  prentice 
hand,  though.  That's  the  only  thing.  The  veriest  kid 
could  detect  the  alteration." 

"  It's  your  brand."     Dan's  eyes  were  still  averted. 

"  Sure  it's  my  brand.  There's  no  need  for  more  than 
two  eyes  to  see  that." 

McLagan's  quirt  again  began  to  beat  his  boot-leg.  Jim 
understood  the  temper  lying  behind  that  nervous  move- 
ment. He  felt  sick. 

"  Wher'  d'ye  keep  your  brands  ?  " 

"  There's  one  here  and  one  up  in  the  hills,  in  my  little 
implement  shack,  where  I  run  my  cattle.  I  keep  that 
there  for  convenience." 

"  Just  so." 

Jim  was  groping  under  the  bed  on  which  Dan  was 
reclining.  He  heard  the  reply,  but  chose  to  ignore  it. 


Branded  2 1 7 

But  lie  knew  by  its  tone  that  suspicion  had  been  driven 
home  in  this  cattleman's  mind.  He  drew  an  iron  out 
from  amongst  the  litter  under  the  bed,  and  held  it  up. 

44  That's  the  iron,"  he  said.  "  It  would  be  well  to  com- 
pare it  on  the  brands.  It  is  identical  with  the  iron  I 
keep  up  in  the  hills." 

44  For  convenience." 

The  men's  eyes  met  again. 

"  Yes — for  convenience."  There  was  a  sharpness  in 
the  foreman's  acquiescence. 

The  Irishman's  eyes  grew  hot.  The  whites  began  to 
get  bloodshot. 

"  Seems  to  me  it's  fer  you  to  see  if  that  iron  fits,  an', 
if  so — why  ?  " 

In  spite  of  Dan's  evident  heat  his  tone  was  frigid,  and 
its  suggestion  could  no  longer  be  ignored.  Jim  Thorpe, 
conscious  of  his  innocence,  was  not  the  man  to  accept 
such  innuendoes  without  protest.  Suddenly  his  swift 
rising  anger  took  hold  of  him,  and  the  fiery  protest  which 
McLagan  had  intended  to  call  forth  broke  out. 

44  Look  here,  McLagan,"  he  cried,  vainly  trying  to 
keep  his  tone  cool,  "  I've  been  with  you  about  four  years. 
You  know  something  of  my  history,  and  the  folks  I 
spring  from.  You  know  more  than  any  one  else  of  me. 
For  four  years  I've  worked  for  you  in  a  way,  as  you, 
yourself,  have  been  pleased  to  say  in  odd  moments  of 
generosity,  in  a  way  that  few  hired  men  generally  work 
out  here  in  the  West.  You've  trusted  me  in  conse- 
quence. And  you've  never  found  me  shirking  responsi- 
bilities, nor  slacking.  You've  helped  me  get  together  a 
bunch  of  cattle  with  a  view  to  becoming  independent, 
ind  shown  me  in  every  way  your  confidence.  You've 


218  The  One- Way  Trail 

even  offered  to  lease  me  grazing.  These  latter  things 
have  not  been  without  profit  to  you.  That's  as  it  should 
be.  However,  I  just  mention  these  things  to  point  the 
rise  in  confidence  which  has  grown  up  between  us.  You 
understand?  Now  the  cattle  stealing  begins.  These 
cattle  are  brought  in  here  with  my  brands  on.  There  is 
no  doubt  they  are  your  steers.  You  listen  to  the  story 
of  the  manner  of  their  finding.  You  witness  the  cold 
suspicion  of  me  which  those  two  men  possess.  Those 
four  years  go  for  nothing.  Your  confidence  won't  stand 
the  least  strain.  You  do  not  accuse  me  straight  out,  but 
show  me  the  suspicion  with  which  you  are  contaminated 
in  a  manner  unworthy  of  an  honest  man.  I  tell  you  it's 
rotten.  It's — it's  despicable.  Do  you  think  I'm  going 
to  sit  down  under  this  suspicion  ?  It  will  be  all  over  the 
countryside  by  to-morrow,  and  I — I  shall  be  a  branded 
man.  I  tell  you  I'm  going  to  sift  this  matter  to  the  bot- 
tom. But  make  no  mistake.  Not  for  your  sake — nor 
for  anybody  else  but  myself.  Those  four  years  of  hard 
honest  work  don't  count  with  you.  Well,  they  shan't 
count  with  me.  I'll  stay  here  with  you  so  that  I'm 
handy  whenever  wanted — you  understand  me,  I  suppose 
— '  wanted.'  But  I'll  thank  you  to  let  me  pursue  my  in- 
vestigations in  the  way  I  choose.  Your  work  shan't  suf- 
fer. If  I  don't  lay  my  hands  on  the  thief  or  thieves  in  a 
month's  time,  then  write  me  down  a  wrong  'un.  If  I  do 
round  'em  up  I'll  at  once  take  my  leave  of  you,  for  I've 
no  use  for  a  man  of  your  evident  calibre." 

He  was  standing  when  he  finished  speaking.  His  dark 
eyes  said  far  more  than  his  words,  and  the  clenching  hands 
at  his  sides  conveyed  a  threat  that  Dan  was  quick  to  per- 
ceive. However  he  felt  the  other's  words  he  gave  no  sign, 


Branded  219 

And  his  attitude  was  once  more  disconcerting  and  puz- 
zling to  the  furious  Jim.  He  wanted  one  of  those  out- 
bursts of  Celtic  passion  he  was  used  to;  he  wanted  a  chance 
to  hand  out  unrestrained  the  fury  that  was  working  up 
to  such  a  pitch  inside  him.  But  the  opportunity  was  not 
given.  Dan  spoke  coldly  and  quietly,  a  process  which 
maddened  the  injured  man. 

"  Words  make  elegant  pictures,"  he  said,  "  an'  I  hate 
pictures.  See  here,  Jim  Thorpe,  you've  ladled  it  out  good 
an'  plenty.  Now  I'm  goin'  to  pass  you  a  dipper  o'  hash. 
There's  the  cattle ;  there's  your  brands  ;  there's  wher'  they 
was  found.  Three  nuts  that  need  crackin'.  You  guess 
you're  goin'  to  crack  them  nuts.  Wai,  I'd  say  it's  up  to 
you.  Crack  'em.  An' — you  needn't  to  stop  here  to  do 
it.  You  can  get  right  out  an'  do  the  crackin'  where  you 
like.  An'  when  you've  cracked  'em,  an'  you  feel  like  it, — 
mind,  I  don't  ask  you  to — you  can  come  along  and  you'll 
find  this  shack  still  standin'.  That,  too,  is  up  to  you. 
Meanwhiles,  Joe  Bloc  '11  slep  right  here.  Guess  you'll  be 
startin'  out  crackin'  nuts  to-morrow  morning.  There's 
just  one  thing  I'd  like  to  say  before  partin',  Jim,"  he 
added,  his  frigidity  thawing  slightly.  "  I'm  a  cattleman 
first  an'  last.  It's  meat  and  drink  an'  pocket-money  to 
me.  My  calibre  don't  cut  any  figure  when  there's  cattle 
stealin'  doing.  As  sure  as  St.  Patrick  got  busy  with  the 
snakes,  I'd  help  to  hang  the  last  cattle-rustler,  an'  dance 
on  his  face  after  he  was  dead — if  he  was  my  own  brother. 
Think  o'  that,  and  maybe  you'll  understand  things." 

He  rose  from  the  bed  and  walked  out  of  the  hut  without 
waiting  for  a  reply. 

For  a  full  minute  Jim  stood  staring  after  him  through 
the  doorway.  Then  his  eyes  came  back  to  the  branding- 


220  The  One- Way  Trail 

iron  on  the  bed.  He  stared  at  it.  Then  he  picked  it  up 
and  mechanically  examined  the  stars  at  the  end  of  it. 
Suddenly  he  flung  it  out  of  sight  under  the  bed  where  it 
had  come  from,  and  sat  on  the  blankets  with  his  face 
resting  in  his  hands. 

It  was  a  hideous  moment.  He  was  dismissed — under 
suspicion.  Suddenly  he  laughed.  But  the  sound  that 
came  was  high-pitched,  strained,  and  had  no  semblance 
of  a  laugh  in  it.  A  moment  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  By  G — ,  he  can't — he  can't  know  what  he's  done ! " 
he  muttered,  a  new  horror  in  his  tone.  "  Sacked — '  fired ' 
— kicked  out !  he's  branded  me  as  surely — as  surely  as 
if  he'd  put  the  irons  on  me !  " 


CHAPTER  XX 

APPROACHING   THE   TRIBUNAL 

THE  sun  was  mounting  royally  in  the  eastern  sky. 
There  was  not  a  breath  of  air  to  temper  the  rapidly  heat^ 
ing  atmosphere.  The  green  grassland  rolled  away  on 
every  hand,  a  fascinating,  limitless  plain  whose  monotony 
drives  men  to  deep-throated  curses,  and  yet  holds  them 
to  its  bosom  as  surely  as  might  a  well-loved  mistress.  It 
was  a  morning  when  the  heart  of  man  should  be  stirred 
with  the  joy  of  life,  when  lungs  expand  with  deep  draughts 
of  the  earth's  purest  air,  when  the  full,  rich  blood  circu- 
lates with  strong,  virile  pulsations,  and  the  power  to  do 
tingles  in  every  nerve. 

It  was  no  day  on  which  a  man,  branded  with  the  worst 
crime  known  to  a  cattle  country,  should  set  out  to  face 
his  fellow  men.  There  should  have  been  darkening 
clouds  on  every  horizon.  There  should  have  been  distant 
growlings  of  thunder,  and  every  now  and  then  the 
heavens  should  have  been  4I  rent  in  twain  with  appalling 
floods  of  cruel  light,"  to  match  the  hopeless  gloom  of 
outraged  innocence. 

But  the  glorious  summer  day  was  there  to  mock,  as 
is  the  way  of  things  in  a  world  where  the  struggles  and 
disasters  of  humanity  must  be  counted  so  infinitesimal. 

This  was  the  morning  when  Jim  Thorpe  turned  his 
stiffly  squared  back  upon  the  "  AZ  "  ranch.  He  wanted 
no  melodramatic  accompaniment.  He  wanted  the  light,, 
he  wanted  the  cheering  sun,  he  wanted  that  wealth  of 


222  The  One- Way  Trail 

natural  splendor,  which  the  Western  prairie  can  so  amply 
afford,  to  lighten  the  burden  which  had  so  suddenly  fallen 
upon  him. 

It  was  another  of  Fate's  little  tricks  that  had  been 
aimed  at  him,  another  side  of  that  unfortunate  destiny 
which  seemed  to  be  ever  dogging  him.  Well  might  he 
have  cried  out,  "  How  long  ?  How  long  ?  "  Whatever 
the  fates  had  done  for  him  in  the  past,  whatever  his  dis- 
appointments, whatever  his  disasters,  crime  had  found 
no  place  in  the  accusations  against  him.  It  almost 
seemed  as  though  his  destiny  was  working  its  heartless 
pranks  upon  him  with  ever-growing  devilishness. 

With  subtle  foresight,  and  knowledge  of  its  victim  it 
timed  its  efforts  carefully,  and  directed  them  on  a  course 
that  could  hurt  his  spirit  most.  Even  when  his  inclina- 
tions, his  sensibilities  were  at  their  highest  pitch,  down 
came  the  bolt  with  unerring  aim,  and  surely  in  the  very 
direction  which,  at  the  moment,  could  drive  him  the 
hardest,  could  bow  his  head  the  lowest. 

Four  years  in  the  cattle  world  had  ingrained  in  him  the 
instincts  of  a  traffic  which  possesses  a  wholesome  appeal 
to  all  that  is  most  manly  in  men.  Four  years  had  taught 
him  to  abhor  crime  against  that  traffic  in  a  way  that  was 
almost  as  fanatical  as  it  was  in  such  men  as  McLagan 
and  those  actually  bred  to  it.  He  was  no  exception. 
He  had  caught  the  fever ;  and  the  cattleman's  fever  is 
not  easily  shaken  off.  As  McLagan  would  show  no 
mercy  to  his  own  brother  were  he  a  proven  cattle-thief, 
so  Jim  loathed  the  crime  in  little  less  degree.  And  he 
was  about  to  face  the  world,  his  world,  branded  with  that 
crime. 

It  was  a  terrible  thought,  a  hideous  thought,  and,  in 


Approaching  the  Tribunal  223 

spite  of  his  squared  shoulders,  his  stiffened  back,  his 
spirit,  for  the  time,  was  crushed  un^er  the  burden  so  un- 
justly thrust  upon  him.  He  thought  of  Peter  Blunt, 
and  wondered  vaguely  what  he  would  say.  He  won- 
dered what  would  be  the  look  in  the  kindly  gray  eyes 
when  he  spoke  the  words  of  comfort  and  disbelief  which 
he  knew  would  await  him.  That  was  it.  The  look.  It 
was  the  thought  behind  the  words  that  mattered — and 
could  so  hurt. 

As  the  miles  swept  away  under  his  horse's  raking 
stride,  he  tried  to  puzzle  out  the  riddle,  or  the  "  nut " 
he  had  set  out  to  crack,  as  McLagan  had  been  pleased  to 
call  it.  He  could  see  no  explanation  of  it.  Why  his 
brand  ?  He  knew  well  enough  that  cattle  rustlers  pre- 
ferred to  use  established  brands  of  distant  ranches  when  it 
was  necessary  to  hold  stolen  cattle  in  hiding  before  de- 
porting them  from  the  district.  But  his  brand.  It  was 
absurd  from  a  rustler's  point  of  view.  Everybody  knew 
his  small  bunch  of  cattle.  Any  excessive  number  with 
his  brand  on  would  excite  suspicion.  It  was  surely,  as  he 
had  said,  the  work  of  a  prentice  hand.  No  experienced 
thief  would  have  done  it. 

He  thought  and  thought,  but  he  could  see  no  gleam  of 
light  on  the  matter. 

As  the  miles  were  covered  he  still  floundered  in  a  maze 
of  speculation  that  seemed  to  lead  him  nowhither.  But 
his  efforts  helped  him  unconsciously.  It  kept  his  mind 
from  brooding  on  the  disaster  to  himself,  and,  to  a  man  of 
his  sensibilities,  this  was  healthy.  He  had  all  the  grit  to 
face  his  fellow  men  in  self-defense,  but,  to  his  proud  na- 
ture, it  was  difficult  to  stand  up  under  the  knowledge  of  a 
disgrace  which  was  not  his  due. 


224  The  One- Way  Trail 

He  was  within  a  few  miles  of  Barnriff  when  his  mind 
suddenly  lurched  into  a  fresh  channel  of  thought.  With 
that  roving,  groping  after  a  clue  to  the  crime  of  which  he 
was  morally  accused,  Eve  suddenly  grew  into  his  focus. 
He  thought  with  a  shudder  what  it  would  have  meant  to 
her  had  she  married  him  instead  of  Will.  He  tried  to 
picture  her  brave  face,  while  she  writhed  under  the  taunts 
of  her  sex,  and  the  meaning  glances  of  the  men-folk.  It 
was  a  terrible  picture,  and  one  that  brought  beads  of  per- 
spiration to  his  brow. 

It  was  a  lucky — yes,  in  spite  of  Will's  defections — 
thing  for  her  she  had  married  the  man  she  did.  Besides, 
Will  had  mended  his  ways.  He  had  kept  to  the  judg- 
ment that  Peter  Blunt  had  passed  on  him.  Well,  he 
would  have  the  laugh  now. 

Then  there  was  Will's  success.  Everything  had  gone 
his  way.  Fortune  had  showered  her  best  on  him,  whether 
he  deserved  it  or  not.  She  apparently  found  no  fault  in 
him.  And  they  said  he  was  turning  out  thousands  of 
dollars.  But  there,  it  was  no  use  thinking  and  wondering. 
The  luck  had  all  gone  Will's  way.  It  was  hard — devilish 
hard. 

Poor  Eve  !  He  caught  himself  pitying  her.  No,  he 
had  no  right  to  pity  her.  The  pity  would  have  been  had 
she  married  him.  And  yet — perhaps  this  would  never 
have  happened  had  she  married  him.  No,  he  told  him- 
self, it  would  never,  could  never  have  happened  then. 
For,  in  the  fact  of  having  won  her,  would  not  his  luck 
have  been  the  reverse  of  what  it  was  ? 

Suddenly  he  wondered  what  she  would  think  when  he 
told  her — -or  when  others  told  her,  as,  doubtless  by  this 
time,  they  had  already  done.  He  shuddered.  She  was  in 


Approaching  the  Tribunal  225 

a  cattle  country.  She  was  ingrained  with  all  its  instincts. 
Would  she  condemn  him  without  a  hearing  ?  When  he 
went  to  speak  to  her,  would  she  turn  from  him  as  from 
something  unclean?  Again  the  sweat  broke  out  at  his 
thought.  She  might.  The  facts  were  deadly  against 

him.     And  yet — and  yet  somehow No,  he  dared 

not  speculate ;  he  must  wait. 

There  was  the  humble  little  village  on  ahead  of  him, 
nestling  like  some  tiny  boat  amidst  the  vast  rollers  of  the 
prairie  ocean.  There,  ahead,  were  his  judges,  and  amongst 
them  the  woman  who  was  still  more  to  him  than  his  very 
life.  He  must  face  them,  face  them  all.  And  when  their 
verdict  was  pronounced,  as  he  knew  it  would  be  in  no  un- 
certain manner,  then,  with  girded  loins,  he  must  stand 
out,  and,  conscious  of  his  innocence,  fight  the  great  bat- 
tle. It  was  the  world — his  world — against  him,  he  knew. 
What— what  must  be  the  result? 


CHAPTER  XXI 

INSPIRATION 

HALF  an  hour  later  Jim  rode  into  Barnriff.  Ii  was  get- 
ting on  toward  noon,  and  most  of  the  villagers  were  busy 
at  their  various  occupations.  As  he  rode  on  to  the  mar- 
ket-place he  glanced  quickly  about  him,  and,  all  uncon- 
sciously, there  was  defiance  and  resentment  in  his  dark 
eyes  ;  the  look  of  a  man  prepared  for  the  accusations  which 
he  knew  were  awaiting  him.  But  this  attitude  was  quite 
wasted,  for  there  were  few  people  about,  and  those  few 
were  either  too  far  off,  or  too  busy  to  note  his  coming,  or 
appreciate  his  feelings,  as  expressed  in  his  dark  eyes. 

It  is  strange  how  instinct  will  so  often  take  the  lead  in 
moments  critical  in  the  lives  of  human  beings.  Jim  had 
no  thought  of  whither  his  immediate  destination  lay,  yet 
he  was  riding  straight  for  the  house  of  the  friendly  gold 
prospector.  Doubtless  his  action  was  due  to  a  subcon- 
scious realization  of  a  friendliness  and  trust  on  the  part  of 
Peter,  which  was  not  to  be  overborne  by  the  first  breath 
of  suspicion. 

He  was  within  fifty  yards  of  that  friendly,  open  door, 
when  he  became  aware  that  a  woman's  figure  was  stand- 
ing before  it.  Her  back  was  turned,  and  she  looked  to  be 
either  peering  within  the  hut,  or  talking  to  some  one  in- 
side it.  Nor,  strangely  enough,  did  he  recognize  the  trim 
outline  of  her  figure  until  she  abruptly  turned  away  and 
moved  off  in  the  direction  of  her  own  house.  It  was  Eve 


Inspiration  227 

Henderson.  And,  without  hesitation,  he  swung  his  horse 
in  her  direction. 

She  saw  him  at  once  and,  smiling  a  welcome,  waited 
for  him  to  come  up.  He  saw  the  smile  and  the  unhesitat- 
ing way  she  stepped  forward  to  greet  him.  There  could 
have  been  no  doubt  of  her  cordiality,  even  eagerness,  yet 
with  the  shadow  of  his  disgrace  hanging  over  him,  he 
tried  to  look  beyond  it  for  that  something  which  he  was 
ready  to  resent  even  in  her. 

He  saw  the  shadow  on  her  face,  which  even  her  smile 
had  no  power  to  lift  out  of  its  troubled  lines.  He  saw 
dark  shadows  round  her  eyes,  the  tremulous,  drooping 
mouth,  once  so  buoyant  and  happy,  and  he  selfishly  took 
these  signs  to  himself,  and  moodily  felt  that  she  was  try- 
ing vainly  to  conceal  her  real  thoughts  of  him  behind  a 
display  of  loyalty. 

There  was  no  verbal  greeting  between  them,  and  he 
felt  this  to  be  a  further  ominous  sign.  Somehow,  he 
could  not  force  himself  to  an  ordinary  greeting  under 
the  circumstances.  She  had  doubtless  heard  the  story, 

,so But  he  was  quite  wrong.  Eve  was  simply 

wondering  at  his  coming.  Wondering  what  it  por- 
tended. She  had  truly  enough  heard  the  story  of  the 
recovery  of  the  cattle,  as  who  in  Barnriff  had  not  ?  But 
her  wonder  and  nervousness  were  not  for  him,  but  for 
herself.  It  was  for  herself,  and  had  to  do  with  that  fear 
she  had  told  Annie  Gay  of,  and  which  now  had  become 
a  sort  of  waking  nightmare  to  her. 

Jim  sprang  from  the  saddle.  Linking  his  arm  through 
the  reins,  he  stood  facing  the  woman  he  loved. 

"Well?"  he  said,  in  a  curious,  half-defiant  manner, 
while  his  glance  swept  over  every  detail  of  her  pretty, 


228  The  One- Way  Trail 

troubled  face.  Finally  it  settled  upon  the  slight  scar  over 
her  temple,  and  a  less  selfish  feeling  took  possession  of 
him.  The  change  in  her  expression  suddenly  told  him 
its  own  story.  Her  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  suffering,  not 
of  any  condemnation  of  himself. 

"  I — I've  just  been  over  to  see  if  Peter  was  in,"  she 
said  hesitatingly. 

"  Peter  ?     Oh,  yes— and,  wasn't  he  ?  " 

Jim  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  feeling  of  awkward- 
ness such  as  he  had  never  before  felt  when  talking  to  Eve. 

The  girl  shook  her  head  and  began  to  move  in  the 
direction  of  her  house.  He  fell  in  beside  her,  and,  for  a 
moment,  neither  spoke.  Finally  she  went  on. 

"  No,"  she  said  regretfully.  "  And  I  sure  wanted  to 
see  him  so  badly.  You  see,"  she  added  hastily,  "  Elia  is 
away.  He's  been  away  for  days,  and,  well,  I  want  to 
know  where  he  is.  I  get  so  anxious  when  he's  away. 
You  see,  he's  so " 

"  And  does  Peter  know  where  he  is  ?  " 

"  Yes.  At  least  I'm  hoping  so.  Elia  goes  with  him  a 
deal  now,  on  his  expeditions.  Peter's  real  good  to  him. 
I  think  he's  trying  to  help  him  in — in — you  know  Elia 
is  so — so  delicate." 

The  girl's  evident  reluctance  to  put  into  words  her  well- 
loved  brother's  weaknesses  roused  all  Jim's  sympathy. 

"  Yes,  yes.  And  is  he  supposed  to  be  with  Peter 
now?" 

"  He  went  away  with  him  four  days  ago." 

« I  see." 

Then  there  was  another  awkward  pause.  Again  Eve 
was  the  one  to  break  it.  They  were  nearing  the  gate  of 
her  little  garden. 


Inspiration  229 

"  But  what  has  brought  you  into  town,  Jim  ? "  she 
suddenly  asked,  as  though  his  presence  had  only  just  oc- 
curred to  her  as  being  unusual. 

With  a  rush  the  memory  of  all  his  disgrace  came  upon 
him  again.  He  laughed  bitterly,  harshly. 

"  Another  of  Dame  Fortune's  kicks,"  he  said. 

"Another?" 

«  Yes — ah,  I  forgot.  Of  course.  Well,  we'll  call  it  one 
of  Dame  Fortune's  kicks." 

"  You  mean  the — cattle  stealing  ?  "  She  was  staring 
straight  ahead  of  her,  and  into  her  eyes  had  leaped  a 
sudden  look  of  fear  which  she  dared  not  let  him  see. 

But  Jim  was  too  busy  with  himself  to  even  notice  her 
hesitation.  He  had  no  room  to  realize  her  emotions  just 
then. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  almost  viciously.  "  It's  about  that  -I 
s'pose  I  ought  to  say  «  because '  of  that."  She  glanced 
at  him  swiftly,  but  waited  for  him  to  go  on.  He  did  so 
with  another  nervous  laugh.  "  I'm '  fired,'  Eve.  Kicked 
out  by  Dan  McLagan,  and  branded  by  him  as  a  suspected 
cattle-thief,  as  surely — as  surely  as  they've  found  a  bunch 
of  his  cattle  branded  with  my  brand." 

They  had  reached  the  gate,  and  Eve  turned  facing 
him.  There  was  a  curious  look  in  her  eyes.  It  was 
almost  one  of  relief.  Yet  it  was  not  quite.  There  was 
something  else  in  it.  There  was  incredulity,  resentment ; 
something  which  suggested  a  whole  world  of  trust  and 
confidence  in  the  man  before  her. 

"  Nonsense,"  she  cried.  "  You — you  accused  of  cattle 
stealing  ?  You  ?  He  must  be  mad.  They  must  all  be 
mad." 

"They?" 


230  The  One- Way  Trail 

The  girl  suddenly  flushed.  She  had  said  more  than 
she  intended.  But  there  was  no  use  drawing  back. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  cried  hotly.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  let  you 
know.  I've  heard  the  story.  Of  course  1  have.  Who, 
living  in  such  a  place  as  BarnrirT,  wouldn't  hear  it?"  she 
hurried  on  bitterly.  "  Directly  they  told  me  I  laughed  at 
them.  But — but  they  do  suspect  you.  Oh,  Jim,  I  think 
I  hate  these  folks.  You — you  suspected  of  cattle-duffing. 
McLagan  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself.  It's  cruel  in 
such  a  country  as  this.  And  the  evidence  is  so  ridicu- 
lous. Oh,  Jim,  if  it  weren't  so  horrible  it  would  be 
almost — almost  laughable." 

"  Thanks,  Eve.     And  that — is  really  what  you  feel?" 

She  looked  him  in  the  face  with  wide,  wondering  eyes. 

"  Why,  of  course  it  is." 

The  man  smiled  ever  so  slightly.  He  felt  better.  A 
few  more  loyal  friends  like  this  and  his  position  would 
be  considerably  easier. 

"  But  they  are  all  branded  with  my  *  *  's,"  he  went 
on  doubtfully. 

"  And  what  of  it?  It's  a  blind.  It's  to  put  folks  off 

the  real  track.  I "  She  broke  off,  and  her  eyelids 

were  suddenly  lowered  to  hide  the  fear  with  which  her 
own  words  again  inspired  her.  As  she  did  not  continue 
Jim  seized  his  opportunity  to  pour  out  something  of  what 
he  felt  at  her  unquestioning  loyalty. 

"  Eve,"  he  cried,  his  eyes  lighting  with  the  love  he  was 
powerless  to  keep  altogether  under.  "  You  don't  know 
all  your  words  mean  to  me.  You  don't  know  how  glad 
they  make  me  feel.  Do  you  know,  when  I  was  riding 
up  to  you  just  now  I  was  looking  for  a  sign  of  suspicion 
in  your  eyes  ?  If  I'd  seen  it — if  I'd  seen  it,  I  can't  tell 


Inspiration  231 

you  what  it  would  have  meant  to  me.  I  almost  thought 
J  did  see  it,  but  now  I  know  I  was  wrong.  There's  just 
about  two  folks  for  whose  opinion  J  care  in  this  village, 
you  and  Peter.  Well,  now  I  feel  I  can  face  the  rest. 
For  the  present  I'm  an  unconvicted  cattle  rustler  to  them. 
There's  not  much  difference  between  that  and  a  rawhide 
rope  with  them.  But  there's  just  a  bit  of  difference,  and 
to  that  bit  I'm  going  to  hold  good  and  tight." 

Eve's  face  suddenly  went  an  ashy  gray. 

"  But,  Jim,  they'd  never — never  hang  you."  Her 
voice  was  low.  There  was  a  thrill  of  horror  in  it  which 
made  the  man's  heart  glow.  He  felt  that  her  horror  was 
for  his  safety,  and  not  for  the  fact  of  the  hanging.  Then 
the  feeling  swiftly  passed.  He  remembered  in  time  that 
she  was  the  wife  of  another. 

"  They  would,"  he  said  decidedly.  "  They'd  hang  me, 
or  anybody  else,  with  very  little  more  proof  than  they've 
already  got.  You  don't  realize  what  cattle-duffing  means 
to  these  folks.  It's  worse  than  murder.  But,"  he  went 
on,  struggling  to  lighten  his  manner,  "  they're  not  going 
to  hang  me,  if  I  know  it.  It's  up  to  me  to  run  this 
rustler  to  earth.  I'm  going  to.  That's  what  I'm  out  for. 
After  I'd  made  up  my  mind  to  hunt  the  devil  down  Mc- 
Lagan  informed  me,  not  in  so  many  words,  of  course, 
that  to  do  so  was  the  only  way  to  convince  folks  of  my 
innocence — himself  included.  So  I'm  going  to  hunt  him 
down,  if  it  takes  months,  and  costs  me  my  last  cent. 
And  when  I  find  him" — his  eyes  lit  with  a  terrible 
purpose — "  may  God  have  mercy  on  his  soul,  for  I 
won't." 

But  the  girl  had  no  response  for  him.  Her  enthusiastic 
belief  in  his  innocence  found  no  further  expression. 


232  The  One- Way  Trail 

When  he  pronounced  his  determination  her  eyes  were 
wide  and  staring,  and  as  he  ceased  speaking  she  turned 
them  toward  the  distant  hills,  lest  he  should  witness  the 
terror  she  could  no  longer  hide.  A  shudder  passed  over 
her  slight  figure.  She  was  struggling  with  herself,  with 
that  haunting  fear  that  was  ever  dogging  her.  The 
thought  of  the  rawhide  rope  had  set  it  shuddering 
through  her  nerve  centres  afresh  in  a  way  that  bathed 
her  in  a  cold  perspiration. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  battling  thus.  Then,  in  the 
midst  of  the  struggle  something  came  upon  her,  and  her 
heart  seemed  to  stand  still.  It  was  as  though  a  flash  of 
mental  light  had  illumined  her  clouded  horizon.  Realiza- 
tion swept  in  upon  her,  a  full  terrible  realization  of  the 
source  of  her  fear. 

It  was  to  do  with  this  cattle  stealing.  Yes,  she  knew 
it  now.  She  knew  more.  She  knew  who  the  cattle- 
rustler  was,  for  whom  Jim  was  to  stand  the  blame.  She 
needed  no  words  to  tell  her.  She  had  no  evidence.  She 
needed  none.  Her  woman's  instinct  served  her,  as 
though  she  had  witnessed  his  acts.  It  was  Will.  It  was 
•i— her  husband. 

And,  all  unconsciously,  for  so  long  this  had  been  her 
fear.  She  remembered  now  so  many  things.  She  re- 
membered his  cynical  laugh  when  he  told  her  of  his  gold 
find,  and  how  easy  it  was  to  work.  She  remembered  her 
lack  of  confidence  in  his  story —knowing  the  man  as  she 
did.  She  remembered  her  repugnance  at  sight  of  the 
money  he  had  spent  on  her,  and  how  she  could  never 
bring  herself  to  touch  that  which  he  sent  to  her.  She 
had  believed  then  that  her  reasons  were  personal.  That 
it  was  because  it  came  from  him,  the  man  who  had  struck 


Inspiration  233 

her  down,  and  left  her  to  die  at  his  hands,  for  all  he 
cared ;  the  man  whose  brutality  had  so  quickly  killed  her 
love  ;  the  man  whom  she  had  long  since  admitted  to  her- 
self that  she  detested,  despised.  No,  she  needed  no 
further  evidence.  It  was  her  woman's  instinct  that 
guided  and  convinced  her. 

She  shuddered.  She  was  chilled  under  a  blazing  sun 
that  had  no  power  to  warm  her.  But  her  terror  was  not 
for  Will.  It  was  for  herself.  For  the  hideousness  of  the 
disgrace  to  which  he  had  brought  her.  In  fancy  she  saw 
him  food  for  carrion  at  the  end  of  a  rope ;  she  saw  his 
body  swaying  to  the  night  breeze,  an  ominous,  hideous 
shadow,  a  warning  to  all  of  the  fate  awaiting  those  who 
sinned  against  the  unwritten  laws  of  the  cattle  world. 
She  heard  the  pitying  tones  of  the  village  women,  she 
saw  their  furtive  side  glances,  heard  their  whispering 
comments  as  they  passed  her,  these  women  whom  she 
had  always  lived  amongst,  whom  she  had  always  counted 
as  friends.  Oh,  the  horror  of  it  all,  and  she  was  utterly 
— utterly  powerless.  Worse,  she  must  strive  her  utmost 
to  shield  Will.  And,  because  he  was  her  husband,  she 
must  leave  Jim  to  fight  his  own  battle  with  her  added 
wits  pitted  against  him. 

She  remembered  Jim's  words.  "  May  God  have  mercy 
on  his  soul,  for  I  won't."  Jim — Jim  was  to  be  Will's 
Nemesis — her  Nemesis.  He  must  be  the  man  who 
would  drive  the  sword  crashing  her  to  the  dust  beneath 
the  weight  of  her  husband's  crime. 

A  despairing  hope  swept  her.  Ah,  no,  no.  It  could 
not  be.  That  would  be  too  cruel.  No,  no,  she  mvist  be 
wrong.  Will  was  not  guilty.  He  could  not  be.  This 
thing  could  surely  never  come  upon  her.  What  had  she 


234  The  One-Way  Trail 

ever  done  to  deserve  it  ?  What ?  She  thought  of 

the  man  before  her.  What  had  he  ever  done  to  deserve 
his  fate?  And  suddenly  the  momentary  hope  slid  from 
under  her  feet. 

Now  her  thought  and  terror  found  expression  against 
her  will.  It  would  not  be  denied.  It  showed  in  her 
shrinking  attitude.  It  was  displayed  in  her  horrified 
eyes.  And  Jim  saw  these  things  and  read  them  in  his 
own  way.  He  deemed  that  he  had  shocked  her  by  his 
words,  nor  could  he  clearly  understand  that  the  force  of 
his  determination  to  defend  himself  should  so  shock  her. 
However,  he  promptly  strove  to  lighten  the  impression 
he  had  made. 

"  Don't  let  us  speak  of  these  things.  Let  us  think  and 
speak  of  other  matters.  You  see,"  he  went  on  whim- 
sically, "  you  were  the  first  person  I  met,  and  I  s'pose  it 
was  only  natural  you  should  get  all  the  burden  of — of 
my  nightmare." 

But  Eve  could  not  rid  herself  of  her  terror.  She  felt 
she  must  talk  of  this  thing. 

"  No,"  she  said  with  an  effort  to  keep  calm,  "  we  must 
talk  of  it  We  must  think — think " 

"  There  is  no  need  for  you  to  think,  Eve.  Put  it  out 
of  your  head.  I  shall  run  him  to  earth " 

"  But,  Jim,"  she  broke  out,  his  words  driving  her  to 
fresh  terror,  "  it  must  be  some  half-breeds.  Or — or — 
some  '  toughs  '  from  across  the  border.  It  must  be.  We 
are  very  near  the  Canadian  border,  remember.  They're 
always  being  driven  across  by  the  Mounted  Police." 

"  No,  it's  some  one  in  the  locality.  Some  one  nobody 
would  suspect.  You  see,  there  have  been  no  strangers 
in  the  district  for  months." 


Inspiration  235 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  Eve's  startled  inquiry  came 
almost  defiantly. 

If  the  man  noticed  her  tone  he  gave  no  sign.  He 
shook  his  head  decidedly. 

"  We've  had  the  district  hunted,  scoured  thoroughly, 
sure."  Then  he  shrugged.  "  But  it  don't  matter.  Psha  ! 
I'd  sooner  it  was  some  half-breed  or  tough.  I'd — I'd  be 
less  sorry  for  him."  He  paused  and  gazed  tenderly  into 
her  troubled  face.  "  But  you  don't  need  to  be  so  shocked. 
Why  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  This  thing  can't  hurt  you." 

The  girl  jumped  at  the  chance  of  denial. 

"  No,  no,  of  course  not,"  she  exclaimed  eagerly. 
Then,  with  a  pitiful  effort  at  subterfuge,  "  But  you,  Jim. 
To  think  that  you  are  blamed." 

In  an  instant  his  love  was  uppermost  again.  Her 
distress,  whatever  its  cause,  appealed  to  all  that  was  best 
and  manliest  in  him.  Just  now  he  took  it  to  himself. 
And,  in  consequence,  he  found  it  hard  to  keep  himself 
within  the  bounds  of  restraint.  She  was  so  sweet,  so 
desirable  in  the  pathetic  picture  she  made. 

"  Never  you  worry,  Eve,"  he  said,  with  infinite  gentle- 
ness. "  This  is  up  to  me,  and — I'm  going  to  see  it 
through.  But  here,  I'm  so  full  of  my  own  troubles  I'm 
forgetting  all  the  good  things  coming  your  way.  Say, 
I'm  mighty  glad  of  your  luck.  Will's  claim  is  a  bo- 
nanza, I'm  told.  I  hear  wonderful  accounts  of  it — and 
of  him."  Then  his  voice  lowered  and  his  calm  eyes 
darkened.  "  He  has  straightened  up,  hasn't  he  ?  It's  a 
great  thing.  You'll  be  happier — now.  You — you 
won't  need  my  help — I  mean  for  him.  They  tell  me 
he's  hit  the  right  trail,  and  is  busy  traveling  it."  He 
sighed.  "  I'm  glad,  real  glad — for  you." 


236  The  One- Way  Trail 

But  curiously  enough  his  sympathy  met  with  no 
response.  On  the  contrary,  Eve  seemed  to  freeze  up. 
Every  word  he  uttered  lashed  her  until  she  felt  she 
must  blurt  out  to  him  the  thing  she  believed  to  be  the 
truth.  But  even  in  her  agony  of  heart  and  mind  she 
remembered  what  she  conceived  to  be  her  duty,  and,  in 
self  defense,  assumed  a  cold  unresponsiveness. 

"  They  say  he'll  be  a  way  up  millionaire/'  Jim  went 
on,  so  busy  with  his  own  thoughts  that  he  did  not  notice 
her  silence.  "  Gee,  and  so  easy,  too.  It's  queer  how 
fortune  runs.  Some  folks  work  like — like  Dagos,  and 
get — mud.  Others  have  gold  poured  over  'em,  whether 
they  work  or  not.  But  he  must  have  worked  to  find  it. 
Yes,  sure.  And  having  found  it  you  can't  blame  him 
for  not  letting  folks  into  the  secret — eh  ?  " 

But  Eve  had  not  spoken.  It  was  only  a  look,  and  an 
inarticulate  sound.  But  it  was  a  look  of  such  abject  ter- 
ror that  it  could  no  longer  escape  the  man's  thoughtful 
eyes.  Eve  had  betrayed  herself  in  her  very  dread  lest 
he  should  suspect.  His  reference  to  Will's  secret  had 
suggested  suspicion  to  her,  and  the  rest  was  the  result 
of  her  innate  honesty  and  simplicity. 

Jim  stared  at  her.  And  slowly  a  curious  look  crept 
into  his  eyes.  Her  terror  was  so  evident,  and — he 
thought  back  over  the  words  that  had  inspired  it.  He 
was  talking  of  Will — of  Will's  secret.  For  the  moment 
he  stood  dumbfounded  at  that  which  flashed  through  his 
mind.  Then  he  turned  slowly,  and  mechanically  threw 
the  reins  over  his  horse's  neck. 

When  he  looked  round  again  Eve  was  still  staring  at 
him.  Her  terror  was,  if  possible,  intensified.  Suddenly 
a  great  pity  for  her  rose  up  in  his  heart.  All  his  love 


Inspiration  237 

was  stirred  to  the  almost  lim'tless  depths  of  his  big 
heart.  How  he  loved  this  woman  !  How  he  longed  to 
take  her  to  his  heart,  and  shelter  her  from  all  the  cruel 
buffeting  of  a  harsh  life !  How  he  would  fight  for  her, 
strive  for  her,  work  for  her — and  now?  He  thought  of 
the  brand  that  had  fallen  upon  him,  and  he  thought  of 
that  something  which  her  sudden  terrified  glance  had 
stirred  in  his  unsuspicious  mind. 

"  Guess  I'll  get  on  to  the  saloon,  as  Peter  isn't  in  his 
hut,"  he  said,  in  a  quiet,  unmeaning  tone.  "  I'll  see  if 
I  can  locate  Elia  for  you."  He  paused,  and  then  swung 
into  the  saddle.  Glancing  down  at  her,  he  leaned  for- 
ward and  spoke  earnestly.  "  Eve,"  he  said,  "  it  still 
stands  good :  the  old  order.  When  you  need  me — for 
anything,  mind — you've  only  got  to  send  me  word. 
Wherever  I  am  I'll  come."  He  straightened  up.  He 
saw  the  girl  make  an  effort  to  swallow,  and  glanced 
away  to  give  her  a  chance  to  recover  her  composure. 
As  he  did  so  he  saw  a  number  of  women  and  some 
men  scattered  about  at  the  doorways  of  various  houses. 
He  promptly  turned  to  the  girl. 

"  Gee  !  "  he  cried,  with  a  slightly  forced  laugh.  "  The 
vultures  are  around.  They're  looking  for  scandal,  and, 
by  the  signs,  I'd  say  they  guess  they've  found  it.  To 
a  man — or  woman — they're  staring  this  way.  Say,  I'll 
get  going.  Good-bye — and  don't  forget." 

He  rode  off.  Eve  had  not  spoken.  She  knew  that 
he  knew,  and  she  was  overwhelmed  at  the  knowledge. 
She  slowly  turned  to  the  house,  and  with  weary  steps 
passed  up  the  narrow  pathway. 

And  Jim?  The  moment  his  face  was  turned  from 
her  his  smile  died  out,  leaving  it  stern  and  hard. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    VIGILANCE   COMMITTEE 

SILAS  ROCKET'S  saloon  was  more  than  usually  desira- 
ble just  now.  There  was  so  much  news  of  an  exciting 
nature  going  about.  Of  course,  fertile  invention  was 
brought  to  bear  in  its  purveyance,  but  that  only  made 
it  the  more  exciting. 

On  the  morning  that  brought  Jim  Thorpe  into  Barn- 
riff  many  of  the  men  of  the  village  were  partaking  of  a 
general  hash  up  of  the  overnight  dish  of  news,  to  which 
was  added  the  delectable  condiment  of  Jim's  sudden 
advent  in  their  midst.  From  the  windows  of  the  saloon 
his  movements  were  closely  watched,  as,  also,  were  they 
from  many  of  the  village  houses.  Speculation  was  rife. 
Curious  eyes  and  bitter  thoughts  were  in  full  play,  while 
his  meeting  with  Eve  Henderson  was  sufficiently  signifi- 
cant to  the  scandalous  minds  of  the  more  virtuous 
women  and  the  coarser  men. 

The  saloon  rang  with  a  discordant  blending  of  curses 
aimed  at  the  head  of  the  unconscious  visitor,  and  ribald 
jests  at  the  expense  of  the  absent  gold  discoverer. 

For  the  moment  Anthony  Smallbones  had  the  floor. 
It  was  a  position  he  never  failed  to  enjoy.  He  loved 
publicity.  And,  in  his  secret  mind,  he  firmly  believed 
that,  but  for  the  presence  of  Doc  Crombie  in  the  vil- 
lage, he  would  undoubtedly  have  held  place  and  power, 
and  have  been  dictating  the  destiny  of  the  village. 


The  Vigilance  Committee  239 

Thus  it  was  that,  just  now,  a  considerable  measure  of 
his  spleen  was  aimed  at  the  absent  doctor. 

"  It's  clear  as  day.  That's  sure.  Doc  Crombie's 
hangin'  back,"  he  was  saying,  in  his  curiously  mean, 
high-pitched  voice.  "  It  ain't  for  me  to  say  he  ain't  got 
grit.  No,  folks.  But  it's  easy  to  guess  for  why  he  hangs 
back."  He  blinked  truculently  into  the  faces  gathered 
about  him,  mutely  daring  anybody  else  to  state  that 
reason.  But  few  cared  to  discuss  the  redoubtable  doctor, 
so  he  was  permitted  to  continue.  "  Doc's  a  sight  too 
friendly  disposed  toward  sech  a  skunk  as  Jim  Thorpe. 
We've  clear  enough  proof  that  feller  is  a  cattle-rustler. 
We've  the  evidence  of  our  eyes,  sure.  There's  the  cattle ; 
ther's  his  brand — and — running  with  his  own  stock, 
hidden  away  up  in  the  foot-hills.  Do  we  need  more? 
Psha !  No.  At  least  no  one  with  any  savvee.  I've 
see  fellers  strung  up  on  less  evidence  than  that,  an'  I've 
bin  on  the " 

"  Rope  ?  "  inquired  Gay,  sarcastically. 

"Not  the  rope,  mister.  Not  the  rope,  but  the 
committee  as  condemned  'em,"  retorted  Smallbones, 
angrily. 

"  Wuss ! "  exclaimed  the  baker  with  profound  con- 
tempt. 

"  Eh  ? "  snarled  the  little  man  with  an  evil  upward 
glance  at  the  other. 

"  Jest  this,"  cried  Wilkes  with  heat.  "  The  feller  that 
hangs  his  feller  man  on  slim  evidence  is  a  lousy,  yaller 
skunk.  Say  he'd  orter  hev  his  belly  tarred,  an*  a  sky- 
rocket turned  loose  in  his  vitals.  I  sez  right  here  the 
evidence  against  Jim  ain't  'nuff  to  condemn  a  gopher. 
It's  positive  ridiculous.  Wot  needs  provin'  is,  who  set 


240  The  One- Way  Trail 

that  brand  on  McLagan's  cattle?  That's  the  question 
I'm  astin'." 

"  Psha  !  You  make  me  sick  ! "  cried  Smallbones,  his 
ferret-eyes  dancing  with  rage.  "  Put  your  question.  An* 
when  you  put  it,  who's  got  to  get  busy  answerin1  ?  I  tell 
you  it's  up  to  Jim  Thorpe  to  prove  he  didn't  brand  'em. 
If  he  can't  do  that  satisfact'ry,  then  he's  got  to  swing." 

But  he  had  a  divided  audience.  Gay  shook  his  head, 
and  two  others  audibly  disagreed  with  his  methods.  But, 
in  spite  of  this,  the  weight  of  opinion  against  Jim  might 
easily  have  been  carried  had  not  the  carpenter  suddenly 
swept  the  last  chance  clear  from  under  Smallbones'  feet. 

"  Wai,"  cried  the  furious  Jake,  with  such  swift  heat 
that  even  those  who  knew  him  best  were  staggered,  "  I'd 
sooner  call  a  cattle-rustler  friend  than  claim  friendship 
with  such  a  low-down  bum  as  Anthony  Smallbones. 
Say,  you  scrap-iron  niggler,"  he  cried,  advancing  threaten- 
ingly upon  his  victim.  "  I'll  tell  you  something  that 
ain't  likely  leaked  in  that  sieve  head  o'  yours.  Cattle- 
rustlers  is  mostly  men.  Mebbe  they're  low-down, 
murderin'  pirates,  but  they're  men — as  us  folks  under- 
stands men.  They  ain't  allus  skunkin'  behind  Bible 
trac's  'cos  they're  scairt  to  git  out  in  the  open.  They're 
allus  ready  to  put  up  a  gamble,  with  their  lives  for  the 
pot.  An'  when  they  gits  it  I  guess  they're  sure  ready  to 
take  their  med'cine  wi'out  squealin'.  Which  needs  grit 
an'  nerve.  Two  things  I  don't  guess  Anthony  Small- 
bones  has  ever  heerd  tell  of  outside  a  dime  fiction.  No, 
sir,  I  guess  you  got  a  foul,  psalm-singin'  tongue,  but  you 
ain't  got  no  grit  Say,"  he  added  witheringly,  "  I'd  hate 
to  see  such  a  miser'ble  spectacle  as  you  goin'  to  a  man's 
death.  I'd  git  sick  feelin'  sore  I  belonged  to  the  human 


The  Vigilance  Committee  241 

race.  Nope,  you  couldn't  never  be  a  man.  Say,  you 
ain't  even  a — louse." 

The  laugh  that  followed  ruined  Smallbones'  last  chance 
of  influencing  the  public  mind.  He  spluttered  and 
shouted  furiously,  but  no  one  would  listen.  And,  in  tbs 
midst  of  his  discomfiture,  a  diversion  was  created  by  the 
entrance  of  a  small  man  with  a  round,  cheery  face  and 
bad  feet.  He  was  a  freighter.  He  walked  to  the  bar, 
called  for  a  drink,  and  inquired  where  Mrs.  Henderson 
lived.  It  was  his  inquiry  that  made  him  the  centre  of 
interest  at  once. 

"  Mrs.  Henderson  ?  "  said  Silas,  as  he  set  the  whiskey 
before  his  customer.  "  Guess  that's  her  shanty  yonder." 
And  he  pointed  through  the  window  nearest  him. 
"  Freight  ?  "  he  inquired  casually,  after  the  little  man  had 
taken  his  bearings. 

"  Sure.     Harmonium." 

"  Eh  ?  " 

Rocket's  astonishment  was  reflected  in  all  the  faces  now 
crowding  round. 

"  Yep."  Then  the  freighter  perceived  the  interest  he 
had  created,  and  promptly  became  expansive.  "  From 
the  ^Eolian  Musical  Corporation,  Highfield,  Californy. 
To  order  of  William  Henderson,  shipped  to  wife  of 
same,  Barnriff,  Montana.  Kind  o'  musical  around  these 
parts  ?  " 

"  Wai,  we're  comin'  on — comin'  on  nicely,"  observed 
Silas,  winking  at  his  friends  gathered  round. 

Gay  nodded,  and  proceeded  to  support  him. 

"  Y'see,  most  of  our  leddies  has  got  higher  than  'cor- 
dions  an'  sech  things.  Though  I  'lows  a  concertina  takes 
a  beatin'.  Still,  education  has  got  loose  on  Barnriff,  anr 


242  The  One- Way  Trail 

I  heerd  tell  as  ther's  some  o'  the  folks  yearnin'  fer  piannys. 
I  did  hear  one  of  our  leadin'  citizens,  Mr.  Anthony  Small- 
bones,  was  about  to  finance  a  brass  band  lay-out." 

"  Ther'  ain't  nuthin'  to  beat  a  slap-up  band,"  agreed  tkj 
freighter  politely.  "  But  these  yer  harmoniums,  they're 
kind  o1  cussed,  some.  Guess  my  ma  had  one  some  years 
back,  but  she  traded  it  off  fer  a  new  cook-stove,  with  a  line 
o'  Chicago  bacon  thrown  in.  I  won't  say  but  she  had 
the  best  o'  the  deal,  too.  Y'see  that  ther'  harmonium 
had  its  drawbacks.  You  never  could  gamble  if  it  had  a 
cold  in  the  head  or  a  mortal  pain  in  its  vitals.  It  wus 
kind  o'  passionate  in  some  of  its  keys,  and  wep'  an' 
sniveled  like  a  spanked  kid  in  others.  Then  it  would 
yep  like  a  hound  if  you  happened  to  push  the  wrong 
button,  an'  groan  to  beat  the  band  if  you  didn't.  Nope. 
They're  cur' us  things  if  they  ain't  treat  right,  an'  I  guess 
niy  ma  hadn't  got  the  knack  o'  pullin'  them  bolts  right. 
Y'see  she'd  been  trained  hocin'  kebbeges  on  a  farm  in 
her  early  years,  an'  I  guess  ther'  ain't  nothin'  more 
calc'lated  to  fix  a  woman  queer  fer  the  doin's  o'  perlite 
sassiety  than  hoein'  kebbeges.  Guess  I'll  get  right  on." 

He  paid  for  his  drink,  and,  followed  by  the  whole  com- 
pany, hobbled  out  to  his  wagon.  He  was  a  queer  figure, 
but,  at  the  moment,  his  defects  were  forgotten  in  the 
'interest  created  by  his  mission  to  Barnriff. 

What  prosperity  the  possession  of  a  harmonium  sug- 
gested to  those  men  might  have  been  judged  by  the  atti- 
tude they  took  up  the  moment  they  were  outside.  They 
Crowded  round  the  wagon  and  gazed  at  the  baize- 
$over?d  instrument,  caged  within  its  protecting  crate. 
They  reached  out  and  felt  it  through  the  baize  ;  they 
peeked  JA  trough  the  gaping  coverjyng,  and  a  hushed 


The  Vigilance  Committee  243 

awe  prevailed,  until,  with  a  cheery  wave  of  the  hand,  the 
teamster  drove  off  in  the  direction  of  Eve's  house. 

Then  the  chorus  of  comment  broke  out. 

"  Gee !  "  exclaimed  Wiikes.  "  A — a  harmonium  !  " 
Then,  overpowered  by  his  emotion,  he  remained  silent. 

"  Psha !  Makes  me  sick  !  "  cried  Smallbones.  "  My 
sister  in  Iowa  has  got  a  fiddle ;  an'  I  know  she  plays  five 
toons  on  it — I've  heerd  her.  She's  got  a  mouth  organ, 
too,  an'  a  musical-box — electric !  One  'ud  think  nobody 
had  got  nuthin'  but  Will  Henderson."  He  strode  back 
to  the  bar  in  dudgeon,  filled  to  the  brim  with  malicious 
envy. 

Others  took  quite  a  different  tone. 

"  It's  walnut,"  said  Restless,  his  professional  instincts 
fully  alert. 

"  Yep,"  agreed  Gay,  "  burr !  " 

"  An'  it's  got  pipes,"  cried  Rust,  impressively.  "  I  see 
'em  sure,  stickin'  up  under  its  wrappin'." 

"  Most  likely  imitation,"  suggested  Gay,  with  com- 
mercial wisdom.  "  Y'see  them  things  needs  fakin'  up  to 
please  the  eye.  If  they  please  the  eye,  they  ain't  like  to 
hit  the  ear-drums  so  bad.  Wimmin  is  cur'us  that  aways." 

"  Mebbe,"  agreed  Rust,  bowing  to  the  butcher's  su- 
perior knowledge.  "  But  I  guess  it  must  'a'  cost  a  heap 
o'  dollars.  Say,  Will  must  'a*  got  it  rich.  I'd  like  to 
savvee  wher',"  he  added,  with  a  sigh,  as  they  thought- 
fully returned  to  the  bar. 

But  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  the  blacksmith's  re- 
grets. They  were  all  too  busy  with  their  own.  There 
was  not  a  man  amongst  them  but  had  been  duly  im- 
pressed by  the  arrival  of  the  harmonium.  Gay,  who  was 
prosperous,  felt  that  a  musical  instrument  was  not  alto- 


244  The  One-Way  Trail 

gether  beyond  his  means.  In  fact,  then  and  there  he 
got  the  idea  of  his  wife  learning  to  play  a  couple  of 
funeral  hymns,  so  he'd  be  able  to  charge  more  for  inter- 
ments, and,  at  the  same  time,  make  them  more  artistic. 

Restless,  too,  was  mildly  envious.  But  being  a  car- 
penter, he  got  no  further  in  his  admiration  of  Will's 
wealth  than  the  fact  that  he  could  decorate  his  home 
with  burr  walnut.  He  had  always  believed  he  had  done 
well  for  himself  in  possessing  a  second-hand  mahogany 
bureau,  and  an  ash  bedstead,  but,  after  all,  these  were 
mere  necessities,  and  their  glory  faded  before  burr  wal- 
nut. 

Rust,  being  a  mere  blacksmith,  considered  the  wood 
but  little,  while  the  pipes  fairly  dazzled  him.  Henderson 
with  a  pipe  organ  !  That  was  the  wonder.  He  had  only 
the  vaguest  notion  of  the  cost,  but,  somewhere  in  the 
back  of  his  head,  he  had  a  shadowy  idea  that  such  things 
ran  into  thousands  of  dollars. 

A  sort  of  depression  crowded  down  the  bar-room  after 
the  arrival  of  the  harmonium.  Nobody  seemed  inclined 
to  drink,  and  talk  was  somehow  impossible.  Nor  was  it 
until  Smallbones  suddenly  started,  and  gleefully  pointed 
at  the  window,  and  informed  the  company  that  Jim 
Thorpe  and  Eve  had  parted  at  last  at  the  gate  of  her 
cabbage  patch,  and  that  he  was  coming  across  to  the 
saloon,  that  the  gloom  vanished,  and  a  rapidly  rising  ex- 
citement took  its  place.  All  eyes  were  at  once  turned 
upon  the  window,  and  Smallbones  again  tasted  the  sweets 
of  public  prominence. 

"  Say/'  he  cri^vd,  "  lOs  comsn'  ngnt  here.  Trie  nerve 
of  it.  I  'lows  it's  up  to  us  to  get  busy.  I  say  he's  a 
cattle-thief,  an' " 


The  Vigilance  Committee  245 

But  Jake  turned  on  him  furiously. 

"  Shut  your  ugly  face,"  he  cried,  "  or — or  I'll  break  it." 

The  baker's  threat  was  effective.  Smallbones  relapsed 
into  moody  silence,  his  beady  eyes  watching  with  the 
others  the  coming  of  the  horseman.  As  Jim  drew  near 
they  backed  from  the  window.  But  they  lost  nothing  of 
his  movements.  They  watched  him  hitch  his  horse  to 
the  tying-post.  They  watched  him  thoughtfully  loosen 
his  cinchas.  They  saw  that  he  had  a  roll  of  blankets  at 
the  cantle  of  his  saddle,  and  saddle-bags  at  its  sides. 
They  saw,  also,  that  he  was  armed  liberally.  A  pair  of 
guns  on  his  saddle,  and  one  attached  to  the  cartridge 
belt  about  his  hips.  Each  mind  was  speculating,  and 
each  mind  was  puzzled  at  the  man's  apparent  unconcern. 

A  moment  later  the  swing  doors  parted,  and  Jim 
strode  in.  His  dark  eyes  flashed  a  swift  glance  about 
the  dingy  interior.  He  noted  the  familiar  faces,  and 
very  evident  attitudes  of  unconcern.  He  knew  at  once 
that  his  coming  had  been  witnessed,  and  that,  in  all 
probability,  he  had  been  well  discussed.  He  was  in  no 
mood  to  mince  matters,  and  intended  to  test  the  public 
feeling  at  once.  With  a  cheery  "  Howdy,"  which  in- 
cluded everybody,  he  walked  to  the  bar. 

"  Guess  we'll  all  drink,  Silas,"  he  said  cheerily,  and  laid 
a  five-dollar  bill  on  the  counter. 

But,  for  once  in  his  life,  the  saloon-keeper  felt  it  would 
be  necessary  to  ask  his  customers  what  they  would  drink. 
This  he  did,  while  Jim  turned  to  Jake  and  the  butcher, 
who  happened  to  be  standing  nearest  to  him. 

"  I've  quit  the  '  AZ's/  "  he  said,  with  a  light  laugh. 
"  Or  p'r'aps  I'd  best  say  McLagan's  quit  me.  Say,  I'm 
out  on  the  war-path,  chasing  cattle-rustlers,"  he  went  on, 


246  The  One- Way  Trail 

with  a  smile.  "  That  bunch  of  cattle  coming  in  with  my 
brand  on  'em  has  set  my  name  stinking  some  with  Mac, 
and  I  guess  it's  up  to  me  to — disinfect  it.  Eh  ?  " 

His  final  ejaculation  was  made  at  Rocket.  There  were 
three  glasses  set  out  on  the  counter,  and  the  saloon- 
keeper was  handing  him  his  change. 

"  Three  drinks,"  that  worthy  was  explaining.  "  The 
rest  o'  the  boys  don't  guess  they're  thirsty." 

Jim  stiffened  his  back,  and  coldly  glanced  over  the 
faces  about  him.  He  counted  ten  men,  without  includ- 
ing himself  and  Rocket.  Of  these,  only  two,  Jake  and 
Gay,  had  accepted  his  invitation.  Suddenly  his  eyes 
rested  on  the  triumphant  face  of  Smallbones.  Without 
a  word  he  strode  across  the  room,  and  his  hand  fell 
heavily  on  the  man's  quaking  shoulder.  In  a  moment 
he  had  dragged  him  to  the  centre  of  the  room. 

"  Guess  you'll  do,  Smallbones,"  he  began,  as  he  re- 
leased the  man's  coat  collar.  "  No,  don't  move.  You're 
going  to  stand  right  there  and  hand  me  out  the  story  I 
see  dodging  behind  those  wicked  eyes  of  yours.  You've 
got  it  there,  good  and  plenty,  back  of  them,  so  get  go- 
ing, and — we'll  all  listen.  Whatever  I've  got  to  say 
you'll  get  after." 

Smallbones'  eyes  snapped  fire.  He  was  furious  at  the 
rough  handling,  and  he  longed  more  than  ever  to  hurt 
this  man. 

"  You're  a  strong  man,  an'  bein'  strong,  you're  mighty 
free  with  your  hands,"  he  snarled.  "  But  you're  up  agin 
it.  Up  agin  it  bad,  Jim  Thorpe."  His  face  lit  with  a 
grin  of  venom.  "  Say,  you  don't  need  no  story  from  me. 
You'll  get  it  plenty  from — everywhere  !  McLagan's  quit 
you,  because Wai,  I'm  a  law-abidin'  citizen,  an' 


The  Vigilance  Committee  247 

don't  figger  to  drink  with  folks  suspected  of — cattle- 
rustlin'." 

Smallbones'  challenge  held  the  whole  room  silent. 
Jake,  watching  and  listening,  was  astonished  at  the  man's 
moral  courage.  But  the  chief  interest  was  in  the  ex- 
ranch-foreman.  What  would  he  do  ? 

The  question  was  swiftly  answered.  Jim's  head  went 
up,  and  a  light  laugh  prefaced  his  words. 

"  So  I'm  up  against  it  ? "  he  said  calmly.  Then  he 
gazed  contemptuously  round  on  those  who  had  rejected 
his  hospitality.  "  So  that's  why  all  you  fellows  refused  to 
drink  with  me.  Well,  it's  a  nasty  pill,  and  it's  likely  to 
hand  me  indigestion."  Then  he  deliberately  turned  his 
back  on  Smallbones  and  glanced  at  the  counter.  The 
drinks  he  had  bought  were  still  there.  He  looked  up 
with  a  frank  smile  into  the  faces  of  the  two  men  who 
were  willing  to  drink  with  him.  "  Gentlemen,"  he 
said,  "  it  seems  to  me  there  are  just  two  drinks  between 
me  and — the  rope.  Will  you  honor  a  suspected  man 
by  clinking  glasses  with  him  ?  " 

He  raised  his  own  glass  to  them,  and  Jake  and  Gay 
nearly  fell  over  each  other  in  their  frantic  efforts  to  express 
their  willingness,  and  their  disapproval  of  Smallbones. 
They  clumsily  clinked  their  glasses,  and  drank  to 
the  last  drop.  Then,  in  silence,  they  set  their  glasses 
down. 

"  Thanks,  Jake.  Thanks,  Gay,"  said  Jim,  after  a 
moment.  Then  he  turned  to  the  saloon-keeper.  "I'm 
sorry  the  order's  so  small,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 

"  You  can  make  it  one  bigger,"  grinned  Silas,  and 
promptly  held  out  his  hand. 

The  two  men  gripped. 


248  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Thanks,"  murmured  Jim.  And  at  the  same  instant 
Smallbones'  offensive  voice  broke  in. 

"  A  real  elegant  scene,"  he  sneered.  "  Most  touchin'. 
Sort  o'  mothers'  meetin'."  But  in  a  second  his  tone 
changed  to  a  furious  rasp.  "  But  don't  you  mistake,  Jim 
Thorpe ;  three  drinks  ain't  buyin'  you  clear.  If  you're 
the  honest  man  you  say,  you'll  hev  to  prove  it.  There's 
the  cattle  with  your  brand  on  'em.  Whose  hand  set  it  on  ? 
Who  keeps  that  brand  ?  Who  runs  his  stock  in  hidin'  up 
in  the  hills  ?  Them's  the  questions  we're  all  astin',  an'  it's 

up  to  you  to  answer  'em  right.     Ef  you  don't,  then 

he  finished  with  a  suggestive  motion  of  hanging. 

But  Jim  had  had  enough.  A  moment  of  blind  fury 
seized  upon  him,  and  he  swung  round  on  his  accuser. 
The  heavy  rawhide  quirt  hanging  on  his  wrist  was  raised 
aloft  threateningly,  and  his  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  a  man 
at  the  limit  of  endurance. 

"  Another  word  from  you  and  I'll  flay  you  alive  with 
this  quirt,"  he  cried.  "  You've  had  your  say,  and  now,  I 
guess,  I'll  have  mine.  You  know  just  as  much  as  all  the 
rest  of  the  folk  here ;  no  more  and  no  less.  No  more 
and  no  less  than  I  do.  When  you  or  anybody  else  gets 
definite  proof  that  I'm  a  cattle-thief  you  are  at  liberty  to 
talk,  but,  until  then,  if  I  hear  you,  or  of  you,  publicly 
charging  me  with  cattle  stealing,  I'll  smash  you,  if  I  swing 
for  it.  Get  right  out,  now.  Get  right  out,  quick  ! " 

Smallbones  stood  for  a  moment  glaring  at  the  threaten- 
ing man.  His  teeth  were  bared  in  a  tigerish  grin.  He 
was  the  picture  of  ferocity,  but,  as  Jim  took  a  step  toward 
him,  his  dark  face  white  with  passion,  he  dropped  back 
and  finally  made  for  the  door. 

But  the  turn  of  fortune's  wheel  was  still  against  Jim. 


The  Vigilance  Committee  249 

For  Smallbones,  the  situation  was  saved  by  the  advent  of 
Doc  Crombie.  That  redoubtable  man  pushed  his  way  in 
through  the  swing  doors  and  promptly  hailed  him  back. 

"  Hold  on,  Smallbones,"  he  cried,  "  I've  a  word  for  you 
fellows.  How  many  are  there  here?"  He  glanced 
round  the  bar  swiftly,  and  finally  his  eyes  rested  on  Jim 
Thorpe. 

44  Ah  !  "  He  paused,  while  he  mentally  estimated  the 
prevailing  feeling.  Then  he  addressed  himself  to  Silas 
behind  the  bar.  "  You'll  help  the  boys  to  drinks,"  he 
said.  Then,  pointedly,  "  All  of  'em."  After  that,  he 
turned  to  Jim.  "  Jest  in  from  the  '  AZ's  '  ?  "  he  inquired 
casually. 

"  McLagan's  quit  me  on  account  of  those  cattle,"  Jim 
admitted,  frankly. 

"  Those  wif  your  brand  on?" 

"  Sure." 

Doc  smiled.  He  could  not  well  have  failed  to  become 
the  leader  of  this  village.  Power  was  written  in  every 
line  of  his  hard,  shrewd  face. 

The  moment  the  drinks  had  been  served  and  heartily 
consumed,  he  addressed  himself  to  the  company  generally. 
And,  at  his  first  words,  Smallbones  flashed  a  wicked  look 
of  triumph  into  the  face  of  Jim  Thorpe. 

"  It's  this  cattle-rustlin',"  he  said,  coming  to  the  point 
at  once.  "  It's  got  to  quit,  an'  it's  right  up  to  us  to  see  it 
does  quit.  I  ain't  come  here  like  a  politician,  nor  a  sky- 
pilot  to  talk  the  rights  an'  wrongs  of  things.  It's  not  in 
my  line  ladlin'  out  psalms  an'  things.  Ther's  folks  paid 
fer  that  sort  o'  hogwash.  It's  jest  been  decided  to  run  a 
gang  o'  vigilantes  over  this  district,  an'  every  feller  called 
upon's  expected  to  roll  up  prompt.  I've  been  around  an' 


250  The  One- Way  Trail 

located  twelve  of  the  boys  from  the  ranges.  I  want  eight 
more.  With  me  it'll  make  twenty-one.  Smallbones," 
he  proceeded,  turning  on  the  hardware  merchant  with  an 
authority  that  would  not  be  denied,  "  you'll  make  one. 
You  two  fellers,  Jake,  an'  you,  carpenter — that's  three. 
You,  Rust — that's  four.  Long  Pete  an'  you,  Sam  Purdy, 
an'  Crook  Wilson ;  you  three  ain't  doin'  a  heap  hangin' 
around  this  bum  canteen — that's  seven."  His  eyes  sud- 
denly sought  Jim's,  and  a  cold  command  fell  upon  his 
victim  even  before  his  words  came.  "  Guess,  under  the 
rirc's,"  he  remarked  pointedly,  "  you'd  best  make  the 
eighth." 

But  Jim  shook  his  head.  A  light  of  determination,  as 
keen  as  the  doctor's  own,  shone  in  the  smiling  eyes  that 
confronted  the  man  of  authority. 

"  Not  for  mine,  Doc,"  he  said  deliberately.  "  Not  on 
your  life.  Here,  I  don't  want  any  mistake,"  he  hastened 
on,  as  he  watched  the  anger  leap  into  the  other's  face, 
and  beheld  the  sparkle  of  malice  lighting  the  beady  eyes 
of  Smallbones.  •«  Just  listen  to  me.  If  you'll  take  a  look 
around  you'll  see  a  number  of  fellers,  mostly  good  fellers, 
more  than  half  of  'em  believing  me  to  be  the  rustler  they're 
all  looking  for.  Well,  for  one  thing  you  can't  put  me  on  a 
vigilance  committee  with  folks  suspecting  me.  It  isn't 
fair  either  way,  to  me  or  them.  Then,  in  the  second 
place,  I've  got  a  say.  I  tell  you,  Doc,  straight  up  and 
down,  as  man  to  man,  I  don't  hunt  with  hounds  that  are 
snapping  at  my  shoulders  in  the  run.  I'm  either  a  rustler 
or  I'm  not.  I  choose  to  say  I'm  not.  That  being  so  I 
guess  I'm  the  most  interested  in  running  these  gophers, 
who  are,  to  their  holes.  Well,  that's  what  I'm  going  to 
do.  But  I'm  going  to  do  it  in  my  own  way,  and  not 


The  Vigilance  Committee  251 

under  any  man's  command.  I've  got  a  few  dollars  by 
me,  and  so  long  as  they  last,  and  my  horse  lasts  out,  I'm 
going  to  get  busy.  You're  a  man  of  intelligence,  so  I 
guess  you'll  see  my  point.  Anyway,  I  hunt  alone." 

It  was  a  lucky  thing  for  Jim  Thorpe  that  he  was  deal- 
ing with  a  really  strong  man,  and  a  fearless  one.  One 
weak  spot  in  the  character  of  Doc  Crombie,  one  trifling 
pettiness,  which  could  have  taken  umbrage  at  the  defiance 
of  his  authority,  one  atom  of  small-mindedness,  whereby 
he  could  have  been  influenced  by  the  curious  evidence 
against  this  man,  and  the  yelping  hounds  of  Barnriff 
would  have  been  let  loose,  and  set  raging  at  his  heels. 
As  it  was,  Doc  Crombie,  whatever  may  have  been  his 
faults,  was  before  all  things  a  man. 

He  turned  from  Jim  with  a  shrug. 

"  Plain  speakin's  good  med'cine,"  he  said,  glancing 
coldly  over  his  shoulder.  "  You've  spoke  a  heap  plain. 
So  will  I.  Hit  your  own  trail,  boy.  But  remember,  this 
dogone  rustler's  got  to  be  rounded  up  and  finished  off  as 
neat  as  a  rawhide  rope  '11  do  it.  If  he  ain't  found — wal, 
we're  goin'  to  clear  Barnriff  of  this  trouble  anyways.  I 
don't  guess  you  need  a  heap  of  extry-ordinary  under- 
standin'  to  get  my  meaning.  You're  gettin'  a  big  chanct 
— why,  take  it.  Gay,"  he  said,  turning  abruptly  to  the 
butcher,  "  I  guess  you'll  make  the  tally  of  the  committee. 
We  start  out  to-night." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

TERROR 

EVE  was  alone.  Never  in  all  her  life  had  she  been  so 
absolutely  alone  as  now.  She  rocked  herself  to  and  fro 
beside  her  kitchen  stove,  her  thoughts  and  fears  rioting 
through  body  and  mind,  until  she  sat  shivering  with  terror 
in  the  warmth  of  her  own  fireside. 

It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  and  the 
vigilantes  were  due  back  in  the  village  before  midnight. 

What  would  be  their  news?  What ?  She  paused., 

listening  fearfully.  But  the  sound  she  heard  was  only  a 
creaking  of  the  frame  of  her  little  home. 

The  suspense  was  nerve  racking.  Would  it  never  end  ? 
Yes,  she  felt  it  would  end — certainly,  inevitably.  And  the 
conviction  produced  a  fresh  shudder  in  her  slight  body. 
Three  hours  ago  she  had  seen  Jim  Thorpe  and  his  jaded 
horse  return  to  the  village.  She  had  longed  to  seek  him 
out — he  had  gone  to  Peter  Blunt's  hut  for  the  night — and 
question  him.  But  she  had  refrained.  Whatever  Jim's 
actual  attitude  toward  her,  she  must  think  of  him  in  her 
calculations  as  the  bitterest  enemy.  In  her  tense  nervous- 
ness she  laughed  hysterically.  Jim,  her  enemy  ?  How 
ridiculous  it  seemed.  And  a  year  ago  he  had  been  her 
lover. 

For  a  moment  her  terror  eased.  Thoughts  of  a  year 
ago  were  far  removed  from  the  horror  of  her  present.  Jim 
could  be  nobody's  enemy  unless  it  were  his  own.  Her 


Terror  253 

enemy  ?  Never.  He  was  too  kind,  too  honest,  too  much 
a  man.  And  yet — the  haunting  of  the  moment  broke 
out  afresh — he  must  be.  In  self-defense  he  must  be 
her  enemy.  He  could  not  clear  his  own  name  other- 
wise. 

She  pondered.  Her  eyes  grew  less  wild,  less  fright- 
ened, and  a  soft  glow  welled  up  in  her  heart  as  she 
thought  of  the  man  whom  she  declared  must  be  her 
enemy.  Just  for  a  moment  she  thought  how  different 
things  might  have  been  had  only  her  choice  fallen  other- 
wise. Then  she  stifled  her  regrets,  and,  in  an  instant, 
was  caught  again  in  the  toils  of  the  horror  that  lay  be- 
fore her. 

She  tried  to  think  out  what  she  must  do  when  the 
vigilantes  returned.  What  would  be  her  best  course  ? 
She  wanted  advice  so  badly.  She  wanted  to  talk  it  over 
with  somebody,  somebody  who  had  clear  judgment, 
somebody  who  could  think  with  a  man's  cool  courage. 
Yes,  she  wanted  a  man's  advice.  And  there  was  no 
man  to  whom  she  could  appeal.  Jim  ? — no,  she  decided 
that  she  could  not  go  to  him.  She  felt  that,  for  safety, 
she  had  seen  too  much  of  him  already.  Peter?  Ah, 
yes  !  But  the  thought  of  him  only  recalled  to  her  mind 
another  trouble  with  which  she  was  beset.  It  was  one, 
which,  amidst  the  horror  of  the  matter  of  the  cattle 
stealing,  had,  for  the  moment,  been  banished  from  her 
mind. 

She  remembered  the  note  she  had  received  from  him 
that  morning,  and  groped  for  it  in  the  bosom  of  her 
dress.  It  had  reached  her  by  a  special  messenger,  and 
its  tone,  for  Peter,  was  urgent  and  serious.  She  found  it 
at  last,  and  straightened  out  its  creases.  She  was  thank- 


254  The  One-Way  Trail 

ful  for  the  occupation,  and  lingered  over  it  before  she 
read  it  over  again. 


"  DEAR  EVE, 

"  Has  Elia  returned  home?  He  left  camp  two 
mornings  ago,  before  sun  up.  I've  been  hunting  him 
ever  since,  but  can't  locate  him.  I've  a  shrewd  idea  that 
he's  on  the  trail  of  your  Will,  but  can't  be  sure.  Any- 
way, I'm  worried  to  death  about  him,  and,  as  a  last 
resource,  thought  he  might  have  gone  back  to  you. 
Send  word  by  the  bearer. 

"  Yours, 

"  PETER  BLUNT." 


Elia  gone.  The  thought  filled  her  with  dismay.  Elia 
was  the  one  person  in  the  world  she  still  clung  to.  And 
now  he  had  gone — been  spirited  away. 

She  thought  of  the  poor  stricken  lad  with  his  crooked 
body.  She  loved  him  as  she  might  have  loved  a  child  of 
her  own.  Yes,  he  was  much  more  to  her  than  her  brother. 
Had  not  she  cared  and  struggled  for  him  all  these  years  ? 
He  had  become  part  of  her  very  life. 

And  Peter,  in  whose  care  she  had  left  him,  had  failed 
her.  Who  on  earth  could  she  trust,  if  not  Peter  ?  She 
blamed  him,  blamed  him  bitterly ;  but,  in  her  heart,  she 
knew  she  had  no  right  to.  Peter  would  not  willingly 
hurt  her,  and  she  knew  well  enough  that  if  Elia  had 
gone  it  was  through  no  carelessness  of  this  gentle,  kindly 
man. 

She  put  the  note  away,  and  sat  staring  into  the  fire. 
The  change  of  thought  had  eased  the  pitch  of  her  nerves 
for  a  moment.  If  she  could  only  blot  that  other  out 
altogether — but  even  as  the  wish  was  formulated  in  her 


Terror 

brain,  the  horror  and  dread  were  on  her  again  crushifl| 
her. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  paced  the  room  with  rapid, 
uneven  strides.  She  could  not  rest.  The  dread  of  the 
return  of  the  vigilantes  obsessed  her.  She  found  herself 
vaguely  wondering  if  they  were  all  out.  Was  Doc  Crom- 
bie  out  ?  No,  she  knew  he  wasn't.  That  was  something. 
That  was  the  man  she  most  dreaded.  To  her  heated 
imagination  he  seemed  inevitable.  He  could  not  fail  in 
his  self-imposed  mission.  He  would  hunt  his  man  down. 
He  would  never  pause  until  the  wretched  victim  was 
swinging  at  the  rope  end. 

She  shuddered.  This  sort  of  thing  had  never  before 
impressed  its  horror  upon  her  as  it  did  now.  How 
should  it?  It  had  always  seemed  so  far  away,  so  re- 
mote from  her  life.  And  now — oh,  God,  to  think  that 
its  shadow  was  so  near  her ! 

Then  for  a  second  her  struggling  brain  eased  with  an 
undefined  hope.  She  was  thinking  of  how  they  had  tried 
to  track  Will  before,  and  how, they  had  failed.  She  tried 
to  tell  herself  that  then  their  incentive  had  been  even 
greater.  Had  it  not  been  the  greed  of  gold?  And  she 
well  knew  its  power  with  these  men.  Yes,  it  suggested^ 
hope.  But  that  one  passing  gleam  vanished  all  too 
swiftly.  She  felt  in  her  inmost  heart  that  no  such  luck 
would  serve  him  now.  These  men  were  bloodhounds  on 
a  trail  of  blood.  They  were  demanding  a  life,  nor  would 
they  lift  their  noses  from  the  scent  until  their  work  was 
accomplished. 

It  was  not  the  man.  It  was  not  the  thought  of  his 
life  that  drove  her  frantic  now.  It  was  the  horror  of  such 
an  end  to  her  wretched  marriage.  The  wife  of  a  cattle- 


256  The  One- Way  Trail 

thief '  The  widow  of  a  man  lynched  by  his  fellow  citi- 
•ens !  She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  hard,  dry 
sobs  racked  her  body. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  thus.  Then  she  suddenly 
lifted  her  head,  her  eyes  staring,  her  whole  attitude 
alert,  intent.  There  was  a  sound  outside.  She  heard 
the  clank  of  the  latch.  And  now  an  awkward  shuffling 
gait  just  outside  her  door.  She  moved  toward  the 
parlor  and  stood  listening  in  the  doorway. 

Suddenly  a  light  broke  in  upon  her.  That  awkward 
footstep  !  She  knew  it !  Her  relief  was  heartbreaking. 
It  was  Elia.  With  a  rush  she  was  at  the  door,  and  the 
next  moment  she  dragged  the  boy  in,  and  was  crooning 
over  him  like  some  mother  over  a  long-lost  child. 

But  the  boy  pushed  her  away  roughly.  His  calm  face 
and  gentle  eyes  now  shone  with  excitement,  one  of  those 
excitements  she  so  dreaded  in  him. 

"  Quit,  sis,"  he  cried  sharply.  "  I  ain't  no  use  fer  sech 
slobberin'.  I  ain't  a  kid.  Say " 

He  broke  off,  eyeing  her  with  his  head  bent  sideways 
in  the  extraordinary  attitude  which  a  cruel  nature  had 
inflicted  upon  him. 

«  Yes." 

Eve's  eyes  were  full  of  a  yearning  tenderness.  His  re- 
buff meant  nothing  to  her  devotion.  She  believed  it  to 
be  only  his  way.  Part  of  the  cruel  disease  for  which  he 
must  be  pitied  and  not  blamed. 

But  his  broken  sentence  remained  uncompleted.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  face  bland  yet  sparkling  with 
the  thought  behind  them. 

"  Peter  sent  word  to  me  to-day  that  you — you  were 
lost,"  Eve  said. 


Terror  2  $7 

The  boy  laughed  without  relaxing  a  muscle. 

"  Did  he?     He's  a  fule  someways." 

He  passed  into  the  kitchen  and  took  Eve's  rocking- 
chair.  She  followed  him,  and  stood  leaning  against  the 
table. 

"  Then  you — you  didn't  get  lost  ?  " 

"  Say,  you  folks  make  me  sick.  Why  'ud  I  get  lost 
more'n  other  fellers  ?  You  guess  I'm  a  kid — but  I  ain't. 
Lost !  Gee  !  Say,  sis,  Peter  orter  know'd  wher'  I  was. 
I  told  him  I  was  goin'.  An'  I  went.  Sure  I  went." 
He  rubbed  his  delicate  hands  together  in  his  glee.  His 
eyes  sparkled  again  with  rising  excitement.  But  Eve 
forgot  her  fears  for  him  now ;  she  was  interested.  She 
was  lifted  out  of  her  own  despair  by  his  evident  joy,  and 
waited  for  him  to  tell  his  story. 

But  Elia  had  his  own  way  of  doing  things,  and  that 
way  was  rarely  a  pleasant  one.  Nor  was  it  now,  as  Eve 
was  quickly  to  learn. 

"  Yes,  sure,  Peter's  a  fule,  someways — but  I  like  him. 
He's  real  good.  Say,  sis,  he's  goin'  to  give  me  all  the 
gold  he  finds.  He  said  so.  Yep.  An*  he'll  do  it. 
Guess  he's  good.  That's  sure  why  I  didn't  do  what  he 
told  me  not  to." 

He  sat  blinking  up  at  his  sister  with  impish  amuse- 
ment. Suddenly  something  in  his  expression  stirred  his 
sister  to  alarm.  Nor  could  she  have  said  how  it  came 
to  her,  or  what  the  nature  of  the  alarm.  It  was  there 
undefined,  but  none  the  less  certain. 

"  What  did  he  tell  you  not  to  do  ?  "  she  asked  anx- 
iously. 

"  Give  him  away.  Say,  here,  I'll  tell  you.  It's  a  dandy 
yarn.  Y'see  I  ain't  just  as  other  folks  are,  sis ;  there's 


258  The  One- Way  Trail 

things  I  ken  do,  an'  things  I  ken  understand  wot  other 
folks  can't.  Say,  I  ken  trail  like — like  a  wolf.  Well,  I 
guess  one  day  I  told  Peter  I  could  trail.  I  told  him  i 
could  trail  your  Will,  an'  find  out  wher'  he  got  his  gold." 

••  And  did  you  ?  " 

The  girl's  demand  was  almost  a  shriek.  The  boy 
nodded  his  bent  head  wisely,  and  his  eyes  lit  with  malice. 

"  And  you  didn't  give  him  away  ?  You  wouldn't — 
you  wouldn't?  He's  my  husband." 

The  pleading  in  his  sister's  voice  was  pitiful  to  hear. 

"  That's  sure  what  Peter  made  me  promise — or  I 
wouldn't  get  his  gold." 

Eve  breathed  more  freely.  But  her  relief  was  short- 
lived. 

The  boy  began  to  laugh.  It  was  a  soft  chuckle  that 
found  no  expression  in  his  face.  The  sound  of  it  sent  a 
shudder  through  the  harassed  woman. 

"  No.  I  didn't  give  him  away,"  he  said  suddenly. 
"  Sis,  I  trailed  an'  trailed,  an'  I  found  him.  Gee,  I  found 
him.  He  was  diggin'  his  gold,  but  it  was  in  the  hides  of 
cattle,  an'  with  a  red-hot  brandin'  iron.  Gee !  I  watched 
him,  but  he  didn't  see  me.  Oh,  no,  I  took  care  of  that. 
If  he'd  seen  me  he'd  sure  have  killed  me.  Say,  sis,  your 
Will's  a  cattle-thief.  You've  heerd  tell  of  'em,  ain't 
you  ?  Do  you  know  what  they  do  to  cattle-thieves  ? 
I'll  tell  you.  They  hang  'em.  They  hang  'em  slow. 
They  haul  'em  up,  an'  their  necks  stretch,  an' — an'  then 
they  die.  Then  the  coyotes  come  round  an'  jump  up 
an'  try  to  eat  'em.  An'  they  hang  there  till  they  stink. 
That's  how  they  treat  cattle-rustlers.  An'  Will's  a 
cattle-rustler." 

"  For  God's  sake,  be  quiet ! " 


Terror  259 

The  woman's  face  was  terrible  in  its  horror,  but  it 
only  seemed  to  give  the  boy  pleasure,  for  he  went  on 
at  once. 

44  Ther'  ain't  no  use  in  squealin'.  I  didn't  give  him 
away.  I'd  like  to,  because  I'd  like  to  see  Will  with  his 
neck  pulled  sure.  But  I  want  Peter's  gold,  an'  I 
wouldn't  get  it  if  I  give  him  away." 

44  Did  you  come  straight  back  here  ?  "  Eve  questioned 
him  sharply,  a  faint  hope  stirring  her. 

"  Yep,  sis,  straight  here."  He  laughed  silently  while 
he  watched  her  with  feline  glee.  "  An'  jest  as  fast  as  I 
could  get,  too.  You  see,  I  guessed  I  might  miss  Doc 
Crombie." 

"  Doc  Crombie  ?  "  The  girl's  eyes  dilated.  She  stood 
like  one  petrified. 

"  Sure.  You  see  I  couldn't  give  Will  away  because  of 
Peter,  But  I  told  him  wher'  the  stolen  cattle  wer'.  An' 
that  I'd  seen  the  rustlers  at  work,  an'  if  he  got  busy 
he'd  get  'em  right  off,  an' " 

But  he  got  no  further  ;  Eve  had  him  by  the  shoulders 
in  a  clutch  that  chilled  his  heart  to  a  maddening  fear. 
His  eyes  stared,  and  he  gasped  as  though  about  to 
faint. 

"  You  told  him  that — you — you  ?  You  never  did  ! 
You  couldn't !  You  wouldn't  dare  !  Oh,  God,  and  to 
think !  Elia,  Elia !  Say  you  didn't.  You'll  never — 
you'll  never  get  Peter's  gold  ! " 

The  woman  was  beside  herself.  She  had  no  idea  of 
what  she  was  saying.  All  she  knew  was  that  Doc 
Crombie  had  been  told  of  Will's  hiding-place,  and,  for 
all  she  knew,  might  be  on  his  way  there  now.  Discov- 
ery was  certain;  and  discovery  meant  — 


260  The  One-Way  Trail 

But  suddenly  she  realized  the  boy's  condition.  He 
was  on  the  verge  of  collapse  from  sheer  dread  of  phys- 
ical hurt.  His  face  was  ashen,  and  his  eyes  were  almost 
starting  from  their  sockets.  In  an  agony  of  remorse 
and  fear  she  released  him  and  knelt  before  him. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Elia.  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you.  But — 
but  you  haven't  told  Doc  ?  "  she  cried  piteously.  "  Say 
you  haven't,  dear.  Oh,  God !  " 

She  abruptly  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  as  though 
to  shut  out  the  horrid  sight  of  this  thing  her  brother 
had  done. 

Elia  recovered  quickly,  but  his  vicious  glee  had 
dropped  to  a  sulky  savagery. 

"  You're  a  fule,  sis,"  he  said,  in  a  sullen  tone.  "  I 
sure  did  it  for  you — an'  'cos  I  hate  him.  But  say,"  he 
cried,  becoming  suddenly  suspicious.  "  I  didn't  tell 
Doc  who  it  was.  I  kep'  my  promise  to  Peter.  I  sure 
didn't  give  him  away.  So  why  for  do  you  raise  sech  a 
racket  ?  An'  anyway  if  he  hangs  you  won't  be  married 
to  him  no  more.  You " 

He  broke  off,  listening.  The  sound  of  a  horse  gallop- 
ing could  be  plainly  heard.  The  noise  abruptly  ceased, 
and  the  boy  looked  up  with  the  light  of  understanding 
in  his  eyes. 

"  One  o'  the  boys,  sis.  One  o'  Doc's  boys. 
Mebbe " 

But  he  was  interrupted  by  the  opening  of  the  outer 
door,  and  Peter  Blunt  strode  in. 

The  expression  of  the  man's  face  was  sufficient  ex- 
planation of  his  unceremonious  visit.  He  made  no  pre- 
tense at  apology.  He  glanced  swiftly  round  the  little 
parlor,  and  finally  espied  Eve  and  her  brother  through 


Terror  261 

the  open  kitchen  door.  He  hurried  across  and  stood 
before  them,  his  eyes  on  the  boy  he  had  spent  two  days 
searching  for. 

"  Thank  God  I've  found  you,  laddie "  he  began. 

But  Eve  cut  him  short. 

"  Oh,  Peter,  Peter,  thank  God  you've  come  !"  she  cried. 

Immediately  the  man's  eyes  were  transferred  to  her 
face. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply.  And  some  of 
the  girl's  terror  suddenly  clutched  at  his  heart 

"  He's  found  him.  Will,  I  mean.  Will's  the  cattle- 
thief.  He  found  him  in  the  midst  of  re-branding.  And 
he  came  right  in  and  told — told  Doc  Crombie." 

In  an  instant  Elia  was  sitting  forward  defending 
himself. 

"  I  didn't  tell  him  who  he  was.  Sure  I  didn't,  'cos 
you  said  I  wouldn't  get  that  gold  if  I  did — if  I  give 
him  away.  I  didn't  give  him  away,  sure — sure.  I  jest 
told  Doc  where  he'd  find  the  rustlers.  That's  all.  That 
ain't  giving  Will  away,  is  it  ? " 

But  Peter  ignored  the  boy's  defense.  His  shrewd 
mind  was  working  swiftly.  Here  was  his  own  un- 
spoken suspicion  of  the  man  verified.  The  whole  situ- 
ation was  all  too  clear.  He  turned  to  Eve  with  a  sharj* 
inquiry. 

"  So  Will's  the  cattle-thief.     You  knew  it?  " 

The  girl  shook  her  head  and  wrung  her  hands  pit- 
eously. 

"  No,  no  ;  I  didn't  know  it.  Indeed,  indeed,  I  didn't. 
Lately  I  suspected — thought — but  I  didn't  know."  Then 
she  cried  helplessly.  "  Oh,  Peter,  what's  to  be  done  ? 
We  must — we  must  save  him!" 


262  The  One- Way  Trail 

In  an  instant  Elia  was  on  his  feet  protesting. 

"  What  for  you  want  to  save  him  ?  "  he  cried.  "  He's 
a  crook.  He's  a  thief.  He's  bad — I  tell  you  he's 
bad." 

But  Peter  suddenly  thrust  out  one  great  hand  and 
pushed  him  back  into  his  chair. 

"  Sit  there  and  keep  quiet,"  he  said  sternly.  "  Now, 
let's  think.  You  told  Doc,  eh?" 

"  Yes,"  retorted  the  boy  sulkily.  "  An'  he's  goin'  out 
after  'em  to-night.  An'  I'm  glad,  'cos  they'll  get  him." 

"  If  they  get  him  you'll  never  get  your  gold,  laddie, 
because  you've  given  him  away.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

Eve,  watching  these  two,  began  to  realize  something 
of  the  working  of  Peter's  mind.  He  meant  to  win  Elia 
over  to  his  side,  and  was  adopting  the  only  possible 
means. 

The  boy  remained  obstinately  silent,  and  Peter  went  on. 

"  Now,  see  here,  which  would  you  rather  do,  get  that 
gold — an'  there's  plenty ;  it  comes  right  through  here  to 
Barnriff— or  see  Will  hang?" 

In  spite  of  his  hatred  of  Will,  the  boy  was  dazzled. 

"  I'd  like  to  see  Will  hang— but— I'd  rather  git  the 
gold." 

"  Well,"  said  Peter,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  ther's  just 
one  way  for  you  to  get  it.  You've  got  to  put  us  wise  how 
to  get  to  Will  to  warn  him  before  Doc  gets  him.  If  Will 
hangs,  you  don't  get  your  gold." 

A  sudden  hope  lit  Eve's  troubled  face.  This  man,  she 
knew,  was  to  be  Will's  savior — her  savior.  Her  heart 
swelled  with  thankfulness  and  hope.  This  man,  without 
a  second's  demur,  had  embraced  her  cause,  was  ready  to  in- 
criminate himself,  to  save  the  worst  criminal  a  cattle  coun- 


Terror  263 

try  knows,  because — just  because  he  wanted  to  help  a 
woman,  who  was  nothing  to  him,  and  never  could  be 
anything  to  him.  It  was  the  love  he  had  for  all  suffering 
humanity,  the  wonderful  charity  of  his  kindly  heart,  that 
made  him  desire  to  help  all  those  who  needed  his  help. 

She  was  listening  now  to  the  manner  in  which  he  ex- 
tracted from  her  unwilling  brother  the  information  he 
sought.  He  did  it  bit  by  bit,  with  much  care  and  delib- 
eration. He  wanted  no  mistake.  The  direction  in  which 
Will's  secret  corrals  lay  must  be  given  with  the  last  word 
in  exactness,  for  any  delay  in  finding  him  might  upset  his 
purpose. 

Having  extracted  all  the  information  necessary,  he  gave 
the  lad  a  final  warning. 

"  Now,  see  here,  Elia,  you're  a  good  lad — better  than 
you  seem ;  but  I'm  not  going  to  be  played  with.  I've 
got  gold  in  plenty,  sure,  and  you're  going  to  get  it  if  you 
stay  right  here,  and  don't  say  a  word  to  any  one  about 
Will  or  this  cattle-rustling.  If  you  do  anything  that  pre- 
vents Will  getting  clear  away,  or  let  folks  know  that  he's 
the  rustler,  then  you  get  no  gold — not  one  cent." 

"  Then,  wot's  this  I've  heerd  about  Jim  ?  Guess  you 
want  him  to  get  the  blame.  You  want  'em  to  hang  Jim 
Thorpe  ?  " 

The  boy's  cunning  was  paralyzing.  Eve's  eyes 
widened  with  a  fresh  fear,  and,  for  a  moment,  Peter  was 
gravely  silent. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  presently, "  for  a  while  he  must  still  have 
the  blame." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  woman. 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  hold  of  Jim,"  he  said  regretfully. 
«  Amongst  other  things,  I  want  his  horse." 


264  The  One-Way  Trail 

In  an  instant  Eve  remembered. 

11  He's  over  in  your  shack.  I  saw  him  go  there  at  sun- 
down." 

Peter's  face  cleared. 

f<  Good,"  he  cried.  "  Come  on,  we'll  all  go  over  there. 
I'll  go  by  the  front  way,  with  Elia.  You  sneak  out  the 
back  way  after  we're  gone." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

FOR   A   WOMAN 

SEATED  before  the  cold  stove  in  Peter  Blunt's  hut,  Jim 
Thorpe  was  lost  in  moody  thought.  His  day  had  been 
long  and  wearying.  He  had  risen  before  sun-up  with 
little  enough  hope  in  his  heart  to  cheer  his  day  in  the 
saddle,  and  now  he  was  contemplating  his  blankets  at 
night  with  even  less. 

Search,  search.  That  had  been  his  day.  A  fruitless 
search  for  the  one  man  whom  he  now  believed  to  be  the 
only  person  who  could  lift  the  blight  of  suspicion  from 
his  overburdened  shoulders. 

Yes,  where  most  Eve  had  sought  to  shield,  she  had 
most  surely  betrayed  by  her  woman's  weakness  and  fear. 
For  the  truth  had  been  forced  upon  Jim's  unsuspicious 
mind  even  against  himself.  Eve's  terror,  during  her  long 
talk  with  him  on  his  return  from  McLagan's  ranch,  had 
done  the  very  thing  she  had  most  sought  to  prevent.  Her 
whole  attitude  had  told  him  its  own  story  of  her  anxiety 
for  some  one,  and  that  some  one  could  only  have  been  her 
husband.  And  the  rest  had  been  brought  about  by  the 
arguments  of  his  own  common  sense. 

At  first  her  fear  had  only  suggested  the  anxiety  of  a 
friend  for  himself,  at  the  jeopardy  in  which  public  sus- 
picion had  placed  him.  Now  he  laughed  at  the  conceit 
of  the  thought,  although,  at  the  time,  it  had  seemed 
natural  enough.  Then  the  intensity  of  her  fears  had  be- 
come so  great,  and  the  personal,  selfish  note  in  her  atti- 


266  The  One-Way  Trail 

tude  so  pronounced,  that  his  suspicion  was  aroused,  and 
he  found  himself  groping  for  its  meaning,  its  necessity. 

Her  terror  seemed  absurd.  It  could  not  be  for  him. 
It  was  out  of  all  proportion.  No,  it  was  not  for  him. 
Was  it  for  herself?  He  could  see  no  reason.  Then, 
why  ?  For  whom  ?  And  in  a  flash,  as  such  realizations 
sometimes  do  come,  even  to  the  most  unsuspicious,  the 
whole  thing  leaped  into  his  focus.  If  she  had  nothing  to 
fear  for  herself,  for  whom  did  she  fear  ?  There  was  but  one 
person— her  husband. 

If  she  feared  for  her  husband,  then  she  must  suspect 
him.  If  she  suspected,  then  there  must  be  reason.  But 
once  this  key  was  put  into  his  hand,  it  needed  little  argu- 
ment to  make  the  whole  thing  plain.  Point  after  point 
occurred  to  his  mind  carrying  with  each  a  conviction  that 
was  beyond  the  necessity  of  any  argument  that  he  could 
offer.  He  saw  the  whole  thing  with  much  the  same  in- 
stinctive conviction  with  which  the  wife  had  seen  it. 

Will  had  calculated  his  revenge  on  him  carefully.  He 
saw  now  what  Eve  had  missed.  The  using  of  the  "  *  *  " 
brand, — which  he  must  have  stolen  from  Jim's  implement 
shed — the  running  of  the  small  bunch  of  McLagan's  cattle 
with  his,  Jim's ;  these  things  had  been  well  thought  out, 
a  carefully  calculated  revenge  for  his  interference  on  the 
night  Will  had  come  so  near  to  killing  his  own  wife.  He 
meant  to  throw  suspicion  upon  him,  suspicion  which,  in 
such  a  country  of  hot-headed  cattlemen,  was  so  narrowly 
removed  from  conviction. 

So  he  had  set  out  on  his  solitary  quest  to  find  this  man, 
and  had  failed.  He  felt  that  he  must  find  him,  yet  he  hardly 
knew  how  it  could  serve  him  to  do  so.  For  there  was 
that  in  the  back  of  his  mind  which  sorely  troubled  him, 


For  a  Woman  267 

He  was  thinking  of  Eve.  Poor  Eve!  With  Will 
found,  or  suspicion  directed  upon  him,  her  troubles  would 
be  a  hundred  times  magnified.  The  man  was  her  hus- 
band, and  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind,  that,  whatever 
his  faults,  she  still  loved  him.  If  he  needed  confirmation 
of  his  belief  there  was  her  anxiety,  her  terrible  dread  when 
talking  to  him.  The  position  was  one  to  tax  a  far  more 
subtle  mind  than  his.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 

Clear  himself  he  must,  but  every  way  he  looked  seemed 
to  be  barred  by  the  certainty  of  bringing  disgrace  and  un- 
happiness  upon  Eve.  The  thought  revolted  him,  and 
yet — and  yet,  why  should  he  take  the  blame?  Why 
should  he  leave  his  name  stinking  in  the  mire  of  such  a 
crime  ?  It  was  maddening.  What  devilish  luck !  Was 
there  no  end  to  the  cruelty  of  his  fate  ? 

Suddenly,  he  laughed.  He  had  to,  or  the  thing  would 
drive  him  to  something  desperate.  Fate  had  such  re- 
freshing ways  of  getting  at  a  man.  She  brought  about 
his  disgrace  through  no  fault  of  his  own,  and  then  refused 
him  the  only  means  of  clearing  himself.  Fortune  cer- 
tainly could  be  a  jade  when  she  chose.  Clear  himself  at 
the  expense  of  the  one  woman  in  the  world  he  loved  ? 
No,  he  couldn't  do  that.  Perhaps  that  was  why  he  was 
given  such  a  cruel  chance. 

But  his  whimsical  moment  was  quickly  gone.  The 
tragedy  of  his  position  was  all  too  harsh  for  such  levity, 
and  he  frowned  down  at  the  cold  iron  of  Peter's  stove. 
What  must  he  do?  He  could  see  no  way  out.  For 
perhaps  the  hundredth  time  that  day  his  question  re- 
mained unanswered.  One  thing  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to,  although  he  could  not  see  how  it  was  to  help 
him  in  his  dilemma.  He  must  find  Will  Henderson. 


268  The  One- Way  Trail 

He  rose  from  his  seat,  stretched  his  aching  limbs,  and 
turned  to  his  blankets. 

But  he  did  not  unroll  them.  The  heavy  step  of  some 
one  approaching  startled  him.  Who  could  it  be  ?  Peter 

was  away — and  yet — and  yet He  listened  intently, 

and  suddenly  his  eyes  lit.  It  was  like  Peter's  step.  He 
went  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open,  and  in  a  moment  was 
greeting  the  one  man  whose  coming  at  such  a  moment 
could  have  made  him  feel  glad. 

"  Say,  Peter,  this  is  bully/'  he  cried,  shaking  the  big 
man's  hand.  "  I  didn't  guess  you'd  be  coming  along  in. 
Who's  that  with  you  ?  Eh  ?  Oh,  Elia." 

Peter  nodded.     But  his  usual  smile  was  lacking. 

"  Yes.  Eve's  just  coming  along.  Ah,  here  she  is," 
he  added,  as  the  girl  suddenly  appeared  in  the  doorway. 
"  Come  in,  my  dear,"  he  went  on  kindly.  "  Guess  we 
caught  Jim  before  he  got  down  for  the  night." 

Jim  offered  the  girl  no  greeting.  All  thought  of 
formalities  was  driven  from  his  mind  at  the  sight  of  her 
expression.  The  hunted  look  in  her  eyes  was  even 
greater  than  it  had  been  two  days  ago,  and  he  wondered 
what  fresh  development  had  brought  it  about.  He  was 
not  long  left  in  doubt.  Peter  eyed  him  ruefully,  and 
then  glanced  at  the  door  which  was  still  open. 

"  It's  trouble,  Jim,  fresh  trouble,  so — I  guess  I'll  shut 
this  door  tight." 

While  he  was  doing  so,  Jim  pushed  the  chair  toward 
Eve,  into  which  she  almost  fell.  Then  he  glanced  at 
Elia,  speculating.  As  Peter  returned  to  the  group  he 
dropped  back  and  seated  himself  on  the  rough  bed,  wait- 
ing for  enlightenment.  Peter  leaned  himself  against  the 
table,  his  grizzled  face  frowning  thoughtfully. 


For  a  Woman  269 

"  I'm  needing  a  horse  to-night — now,"  he  said.  "  An* 
he's  got  to  do  sixty  miles  between  this  and  sundown  to- 
morrow. I  want  iy  ours.  Can  I  have  it?" 

The  man's  shrewd  blue  eyes  were  steadily  fixed  on 
Jim's  face.  He  was  putting  all  his  knowledge  of  the 
ranchman  to  the  test  in  his  own  subtle  way.  He  was 
asking  this  man  to  help  him  against  himself.  He  was 
asking  this  man  to  help  him  prevent  his  removing  the 
unmerited  suspicion  with  which  he  was  branded.  But 
he  intended  to  do  it  openly,  frankly.  And  his  reason 
was  because  he  understood  a  good  deal  of  human  na- 
ture, and  of  Jim  Thorpe  particularly. 

"  You  can  have  him.     What  for  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  Eve  cried,  starting  up  to  prevent  Peter  an- 
swering. 

But  the  big  man  motioned  her  to  calm  herself. 

"  Don't  worry,  Eve,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  This  thing's 
between  Jim  an'  me.  And  I  don't  think  there's  going 
to  be  much  explanation  needed." 

Jim  nodded,  and  his  glance  fell  on  Elia.  He  was  won- 
dering what  part  the  boy  was  playing  in  the  scene. 

"  It's  Will,"  said  Peter.  "  We've  got  to  get  him 
warned — for  her  sake."  He  nodded  in  Eve's  direction, 
but  turned  away  quickly  as  her  face  dropped  into  her 
two  hands  and  remained  hidden. 

"  You  don't  need  to  tell  me  any  more,  Peter,"  said 
Jim,  huskily.  "  Just  give  me  the  other  details.  You 
see,  I  fancy  I  know  all  about  him,  except  his  where- 
abouts." 

Eve  looked  up  startled. 

"  You  know,"  she  whispered  in  awe. 

Jim  nodded. 


270  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  I've  thought  things  out  this  last  two  days,"  he  said 
quietly.  Then  he  turned  to  Peter.  "  But  this  warning. 
What's  made  it  necessary  ?  Have  others  been — think- 
ing?" 

"  No.  They've  been  put  wise."  Peter's  eyes  sought 
the  unsmiling  face  of  Elia.  "  You  see,  Elia  hunted  him 
out.  He's  told  Doc  where  he'll  find  the  rustlers.  But 
mercifully  he  didn't  say  who  the  rustler  was." 

"  Ah,  Elia  hates  Will,"  Jim  said  thoughtfully. 

"  Doc's  setting  out  to-night  to — find  him,"  Peter 
added. 

Jim  glanced  from  Eve  to  the  grizzled  man.  Just  for  a 
second  he  marveled  at  him.  Then  the  feeling  passed  as 
recollections  flew  through  his  mind  of  a  dozen  and  one 
kindnesses  of  heart  which  this  quaint  Englishman  had 
performed.  This  was  just  the  sort  of  thing  Peter  would 
do.  He  would  simply,  and  unconcernedly,  thrust  his 
head  into  the  lion's  jaws  to  help  anybody. 

"  You're  going  to  take  the  warning  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Sure."  Then  Peter  added  apologetically,  with  a 
swift  glance  in  Eve's  direction,  "  You  see,  we  can't  let 
'em — find  him." 

A  shadowy  smile  grew  into  Jim's  eyes.  Peter  wanted 
his  horse  for  a  purpose.  And  that  very  purpose  would 
inevitably  drive  the  brand  which  was  already  upon  him 
deeper  and  deeper  into  his  flesh.  He  was  calmly  asking 
him  to  sacrifice  himself  for  Eve.  He  glanced  in  the  girl's 
direction,  and  all  the  old  love  was  uppermost  in  his 
simple  heart. 

"  When  did  you  get  in  ?  "  he  asked  Peter,  abruptly. 

"  Just  now." 

«  Been  in  the  saddle  all  day  ?  " 


For  a  Woman  271 

«  Yep.     But  that's  no  con " 

"  No.     Only  I  was  thinking." 

Jim's  eyes  were  still  on  Eve.  The  girl  was  looking 
straight  before  her  at  the  stove.  She  could  only  wait. 
These  men,  she  felt,  were  shouldering  her  burden.  But 
she  was  anxious.  Somehow  she  hadn't  the  same  knowl- 
edge of  Jim  that  Peter  had.  But  then,  how  should  she  ? 
Her  point  of  view  was  so  different. 

Suddenly  Jim  started  up. 

"  No,  Peter,  old  friend,  you  can't  have  the  horse — I 
need  it." 

Peter  started  forward.  He  was  startled  out  of  his  be- 
lief in  the  man. 

"  What  in " 

But  Jim  cut  him  short. 

"  Hold  up,  Peter.  Eve's  here,"  he  said.  Then  he 
glanced  at  Elia.  "  I'll  carry  that  warning.  And  I'll  tell 
you  why.  Oh,  no,"  as  Eve  suddenly  started  to  protest, 
"  I'm  only  going  to  speak  common  sense.  Here's  the 
facts  which  you,  old  friend,  with  all  your  wisdom,  seem 
to  have  overlooked."  He  smiled  up  into  Peter's  face. 
«  First,  the  man  who  goes  must  ride  light.  You  can't  be 
accused  of  that.  You  see,  we've  sure  got  to  get  there 
first.  My  plug's  been  out  all  day,  and  has  only  had 
about  four  hours'  rest.  I  can  get  the  most  out  of  him 
the  easiest.  Then,  you  see,  you're  known  to  be  in  town, 
and  if  you  pike  the  trail  to-night  folks'll  get  guessing. 
Then,  you  see,  it's  my  business  to  be  out — they  expect  it 
of  me.  Then — if  things  go  wrong — which  I  don't  guess 
they  will — my  name  stinks  a  bit  around  here,  and,  well, 
a  bit  more  or  less  don't  cut  any  ice.  Then  there's 
another  thing — Elia.  You've  got  to  keep  a  close  eye 


272  The  One-Way  Trail 

on  him,  sure.  If  they  get  at  him — well Anyway, 

that's  what  I  can't  do  under  the  circumstances." 

Peter's  face  grew  almost  stern  as  he  listened  to 
the  marshaling  of  the  man's  arguments.  Jim  saw  his 
look  and  understood.  But  he  had  clearly  made  up  his 
mind. 

11  It's  no  use,  Peter.  You  can't  have  that  horse.  I'm 
going  to  get  the  saddle  on." 

He  rose  to  go.  But  the  big  man  suddenly  barred  his 
way.  His  face  was  stern  and  set — something  like  a 
thunder-cloud  seemed  to  have  settled  upon  his  kindly 
brow. 

"  Hold  on.  I'll  allow  your  arguments  are  mostly  clear. 
Guess  you'll  have  to  go.  But  I  want  to  tell  you  this,  Jim. 
If  things  go  wrong,  I'll — I'll  shoot  the  man  that  lays  hands 
on  you.  I'll  shoot  him  dead  !  " 

But  Eve  was  on  her  feet  at  Jim's  side,  and  her  soft 
hands  were  gripping  his  arm  with  a  nervous  clutch. 

"  No,  no,  Jim,"  she  cried,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"  You — you  mustn't  go.  I  see  it  now.  I  didn't  see  it 
before.  You — you  are  branded  now,  and — and  you're 
going  to  help  him.  Oh,  Jim,  you  mustn't!  We  had  no 
right  to  ask  for  your  horse.  Indeed,  indeed  we  hadn't. 
You  mustn't  go.  Neither  of  you  must.  No,  please,  please 
stay.  It  means  hanging  if  you  are " 

"  Don't  you  say  anything  more,  Eve,"  Jim  said,  gently 
but  firmly  releasing  himself  from  her  hold.  "  I've  thought 
of  all  those  things.  Besides,  you  must  never  forget  that 
Will — is  my  cousin." 

But  Peter  could  stand  no  more. 

"  Come  on,"  he  said,  almost  roughly.  "  It's  late  enough 
already.  Maybe  they'll  be  starting  directly.  Here,  Elia, 


For  a  Woman  273 

you  tell  us  just  where  Will's  in  hiding,  and  mind  you  don't 
miss  anything." 

It  took  barely  five  minutes  for  Elia  to  give  the  required 
directions  again,  which  he  did  ungraciously  enough.  But 
Peter  verified  his  account  with  the  original  story,  and  was 
satisfied. 

Then  the  two  men  went  out  and  saddled  the  horse.  In 
three  minutes  Jim  was  in  the  saddle,  and  Peter  gripped  him 
by  the  hand. 

"  The  good  God'll  help  you  out  for  this,  Jim.  So 
long." 

"  So  long." 

As  the  horseman  passed  the  hut  Eve  and  Elia  were 
standing  before  the  closed  door.  Jim  saw  them,  but  he 
would  not  pause.  However,  his  keen  ears  heard  the  whis- 
pered "  God  bless  you  "  which  the  woman  threw  after  him. 
And  somehow  he  felt  that  nothing  else  in  his  life  much 
mattered. 

A  few  moments  later  Eve  was  at  her  gate,  fumbling  for 
the  latch.  Elia  was  at  her  side,  looking  out  at  the  lights 
of  the  village.  Suddenly  he  turned  and  raised  his  beautiful 
face  to  hers. 

"  Say,  sis,  you're  a  fule  woman,"  he  declared  sharply. 
He  was  listening  to  the  sounds  of  bustle  down  at  the 
saloon.  "  Can't  you  hear  ?  That's  the  boys.  They've 
come  in,  and  they're  gettin'  ready  to  start  with  Doc.  If 
they  get  him — they'll  hang  him." 

"  Him  ?     Who  ?     What  d'you  mean  ?  " 

The  terrified  woman  was  staring  down  into  his  calm 
eyes. 

«  Why— Jim." 

"  Oh,  God,  no !     They  can't !     They  won't !     He's  too 


274  The  One- Way  Trail 

good— too  brave !  God  will  never  let  them.  It  would 
be  too  cruel." 

"  Say,  I  guess  you'd  be  sorry  some  ?  " 

"  Sorry  ?  " 

But  Eve  was  fumbling  again  at  the  gate.  Nor  could 
the  boy  extract  another  word  from  her. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   TRAIL   OF   THE   RUSTLERS 

THE  blackness  of  night  begins  to  stir.  Ahead  and 
above  roll  vague  shadows,  darkening,  threatening,  in 
the  immensity  of  their  wave-like  shapes.  Away  behind 
the  stars  shine  pitifully,  for  a  dim  gray  light  in  the  east 
heralds  the  coming  of  day.  Slowly  the  shadows  change 
from  black  to  a  faint  gray,  and  their  rolling  becomes  more 
pronounced.  Now,  with  each  passing  moment,  the  east- 
ern light  grows,  and  the  darkness  of  the  west  responds  ; 
now,  too,  the  shadows  show  themselves  for  what  they  are. 
They  stir  and  seethe  like  the  churning  of  water  nearly 
boiling,  under  the  rising  zephyrs  of  mountain  air.  They 
are  the  dense  morning  mists,  a  hazy  curtain  shutting  out 
the  mountain  splendor  beyond. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  a  wonderful  metamorphosis. 
A  tinted  fringe  of  cloud  appears  on  the  mists  high  up,  and 
gives  the  impression  of  a  beam  of  sunlight  amidst  the 
shadows.  But  no  sun  has  broken  the  eastern  sky-line,  nor 
will  it  for  another  half-hour.  Yet  the  light  increases,  and 
the  swirling  mists  become  a  rosy  cloudland,  deep,  ruddy f 
and  exquisitely  beautiful.  The  living  fog  rolls  up,  lifting, 
lifting,  and  every  moment  the  picture  grows  in  beauty  and 
in  its  wonders  of  changing  colors. 

Eastward  the  horizon  lights  a  glowing  yellow,  shot  with 
feathery  dashes  of  ruddy  orange ;  yellow  to  green,  and  then 
the  gray  of  the  high  starlit  vault.  But  the  stars  are  dim- 
ming, whimpering  under  their  loss  of  power.  Their  arch- 


276  The  One- Way  Trail 

enemy  of  day  is  approaching,  and  they  must  shrink  away 
and  hide  till  the  fiery  path  of  the  monarch  of  the  universe 
cools,  and  they  are  left  again  to  their  own. 

Doc  Crombie  was  riding  at  the  head  of  his  men  when 
the  sun  cleared  the  horizon.  He  was  staring  ahead  at 
the  still  hazy  foot-hills,  the  hiding-place  of  the  criminal 
he  sought.  The  light  of  battle  was  in  his  keen,  quick, 
luminous  eyes.  His  face  was  set  and  stern.  There  was 
no  mercy  in  the  set  of  his  jaws,  in  the  drawn  shaggy 
brows.  He  was  out  to  rid  the  country,  his  country,  of  a 
scourge,  a  pestilence  neither  he  nor  his  fellow  townsmen 
would  tolerate. 

The  rest  of  the  vigilantes  rode  behind  him,  no  less 
stern-faced  than  their  leader.  With  fresh  horses  they 
had  traveled  long  and  hard  that  night.  The  journey  had 
been  chilly,  and  the  trail  rough.  Their  tempers  were  at 
a  low  ebb,  and  the  condition  only  added  to  their  de- 
termination to  hang  the  man  as  soon  as  he  was  in  their 
power. 

Doc  drew  rein  suddenly  and  called  Smallbones  to  his 
side.  The  trail,  which  had  now  faded  into  something 
little  better  than  a  cattle  track,  was  leading  into  the 
mouth  of  a  narrow  valley,  bordered  on  either  side  by 
towering,  forest-clad  hills.  He  pointed  ahead. 

"That  blamed  kid  said  we'd  keep  right  on  down  this 
cuttin'  to  the  third  hill  on  the  left,"  he  said.  "  It's  nigh 
four  miles.  Then  we'd  find  a  clump  of  scrub  with  two 
lone  pines  standin'  separate.  Here  we'd  get  a  track  of 
cattle  marked  plenty.  Then  we'd  follow  that  for  nigh 
two  miles,  and  we'd  drop  into  the  rustlers'  hollow." 

"  Sure.  Don't  sound  a  heap  o'  trouble,"  said  Small- 
bones,  cheerfully. 


The  Trail  of  the  Rustlers  277 

"  Say,  I'm  not  figgerin'  the  trouble.  But  we've  traveled 
slow.  We  won't  make  it  for  an  hour  an'  more,  an'  we're 
well  past  sun-up  now.  It  was  waitin'  for  the  boys  to  git 
in.  I  sort  o'  wish  I'd  brought  that  kid  along." 

They  were  moving  on  again  at  a  rapid  canter,  and 
Smallbones  was  riding  at  his  side.  The  little  man,  like 
the  rest,  was  armed  liberally.  But  whereas  the  others 
were,  for  the  most  part,  content  with  two  guns,  he  had 
four.  It  would  not  be  for  lack  of  desire  on  his  part  if 
somebody  did  not  die  before  noon. 

"  We  couldn't  help  startin'  late,"  grumbled  the  little 
man.  "  An'  as  fer  that  kid,  I'd  sure  'a*  kep'  him  with  us. 
Who's  to  say  he  ain't  handed  us  a  fool  game  ?  He's  a 
crank,  anyways,  an'  orter  be  looked  after  by  State.  He 
guessed  he  see  the  rustlers  at  work,  but  didn't  rec'nize 
'em.  I  said  right  then  he  was  bluffin'.  D'you  think  he 
wouldn't  know  Jim  Thorpe  ?  " 

"  Barkin'  that  yet,  eh  !  "  retorted  Doc,  sharply.  "  Say, 
boy,"  he  went  on  with  a  great  contempt,  "  you're  dirty. 
Jim  Thorpe  ain't  the  man  we're  after.  Leastways  I 
won't  believe  it  till  we  git  him  red-handed.  I  wouldn't 
be  out  to-night  if  I  thought  it  was  Jim  Thorpe.  We 
left  him  back  ther'  in  the  village.  He's  been  out  two 
days  chasin'  for  rustlers.  See  here,  you're  mean  on 
him  'bout  this  thing,  because  things  are  queer  his  way. 
An'  you  ain't  got  savvee  to  see  that  it's  'cos  things  is 
queer  his  way  is  just  the  reason  he  ain't  the  dogone 
rustler  we're  chasin'.  You  need  to  think  a  sight  more. 
Mebbe  it  hurts  some,  but  it's  a  heap  good." 

Smallbones  shot  a  swift,  sidelong  glance  at  the  doctor, 
in  which  there  was  little  enough  friendliness.  He  prob- 
ably had  no  friendliness  for  anybody. 


278  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  I'll  hand  you  a  noo  buggy  to  a  three-year-old  driver 
he's  our  man,"  he  snapped. 

"  Done,"  grinned  the  sporting  doctor  promptly.  And 
Smallbones  was  the  least  bit  sorry  he  had  laid  so  generous 
odds. 

By  this  time  day  was  in  its  full  early-morning  glory, 
but  they  were  passing  from  the  dazzling  light  of  the 
plains  into  the  more  sheltered  atmosphere  of  the  valley. 
Everywhere  the  hills  rose  about  them,  on  either  side  and 
ahead.  The  gloomy  woods  on  the  vast  slopes  threw  a 
marked  shadow  over  the  prospect.  Ahead  lay  a  wide 
vista  of  tremendous  mountains,  with  their  crowning, 
snow-bound  peaks  lost  in  a  world  of  gray,  fleecy  cloud. 
In  the  heart  of  one  distant  rift  lay  the  steely  bed  of  a 
glacier,  hoary  with  age  and  immovable  as  the  very  bed- 
rocks of  the  mountains  themselves.  It  sloped  away  into 
the  distance,  and  lost  itself  in  the  heart  of  a  mighty 
canon.  Even  to  these  men  on  their  trail  of  death,  living, 
as  they  did,  so  adjacent  to  these  mysterious  wilds,  the 
scene  was  not  without  its  awe. 

The  doctor  was  watching  the  hills  to  the  left.  The 
first  one  seemed  endless,  and  he  sought  a  break  in  it  in 
every  shadowed  indentation  upon  its  face.  He  was  feel- 
ing more  anxious  than  his  own  words  suggested.  He 
was  a  shrewd  man  who  had  understood  the  ring  of  truth 
in  Elia's  story  at  once,  but  now,  in  face  of  this  stupendous 
world,  he  was  wondering  if  he  had  been  well  advised  in 
leaving  the  boy  behind.  He  had  only  done  so  on  the 
score  of  his  crippled  condition  being  a  nuisance  to  them. 
However,  his  doubt  found  no  further  expression  now, 
and  his  keen  eyes  watched  for  the  landmarks  in  a  way 
that  left  him  little  chance  of  missing  them. 


The  Trail  of  the  Rustlers  279 

At  last  the  first  hill  came  to  a  distinct  end,  and  the 
second  rose  higher  and  more  rough.  Its  face  was  torn 
and  barren,  and  what  timber  there  was  grew  low  down 
almost  at  its  foot.  The  valley  was  narrowing,  and  the 
rich  prairie  grass  was  changing  to  a  lank  tangle  of  weedy 
tufts.  There  was  a  suspicion  of  moisture,  too,  in  the 
spongy  tread.  The  sun  further  lost  power  here,  between 
these  narrowing  crags,  and,  although  summer  was  well 
advanced,  the  ground  still  bore  the  moist  traces  of  the 
mountain  spring. 

The  second  hill  was  passed  quickly.  It  was  merely  a 
split  of  the  original  mountain,  the  result,  no  doubt,  of  a 
great  volcanic  upheaval  in  the  early  days  of  the  world. 
And  now,  as  they  rode  on,  the  third  and  last  landmark 
before  the  two  lone  pines  rapidly  slipped  away  behind 
them. 

The  leader  bustled  his  horse.  His  nervous  force  was 
at  a  great  tension  of  impatience.  He,  like  the  rest  of  the 
merciless  band,  was  yearning  for  his  goal. 

At  last  the  two  lone  pines  loomed  up.  The  eyes  of 
the  men  brightened  with  eagerness,  and  their  leader  felt 
certain  of  the  faith  he  had  placed  in  Elia's  story.  Now 
for  the  cattle  tracks. 

As  they  came  abreast  of  the  low  bush,  the  doctor  scat- 
tered his  men  in  various  directions  to  hunt  for  the  trail. 
Nor  did  the  matter  take  long.  In  less  than  five  minutes 
two  of  the  ranch  hands  lit  on  the  tracks  simultaneously. 
A  great  broad  track  of  hoof-marks  deeply  indented  in  the 
soft  ground  stretched  away  up  over  the  shoulder  of  the 
hill.  So  plain  were  they  that  the  horsemen  were  able  to 
follow  them  at  a  gallop. 

Away  up  the  hillside  they  sped.     The  way  was  a  sharp 


28o  The  One-Way  Trail 

incline,  but  smooth  and  wide,  and  free  from  obstruction. 
And  in  ten  minutes  they  were  pausing  to  breathe  their 
hard-blowing  horses  on  the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  with  a 
wide  view  and  a  level  track  ahead  of  them. 

The  doctor  turned  to  order  a  careful  redistribution. 
They  were  near  the  rustlers'  hollow  now,  he  believed, 
and  it  was  his  intention  to  leave  nothing  to  chance. 
Each  man  received  his  instructions  for  the  moment 
when  the  hollow  should  be  reached,  for  Elia  had  given 
him  full  details  of  its  locality,  and  the  possibilities  of 
approach. 

He  knew  it  to  be  a  mere  cup,  with,  apparently,  no 
entrance  or  exit,  except  the  way  they  were  now  approach- 
ing it.  It  had  appeared  to  Elia  to  be  surrounded  by 
towering  hills,  densely  clad  in  forests  of  spruce  and  pine. 
He  had  described  the  corral  as  being  on  the  left  front 
from  the  entrance,  and  that  a  hut,  backing  into  the  flank- 
ing woods,  occupied  the  distance  on  the  right. 

The  doctor's  disposition,  in  consequence,  was  simple. 
The  whole  party  were  to  race  at  a  gallop  into  the  hol- 
low. The  eight  leaders  were  to  ride  straight  for  the  hut, 
no  matter  what  fire  might  be  opposed  to  them.  The  six 
men  immediately  in  their  rear  were  to  open  out  and 
ride  for  the  encompassing  fringe  of  woods,  lest  any  of 
the  rustlers  should  make  for  escape  that  way.  While 
the  rest  of  the  party  were  to  ride  for  the  corral,  and 
round  up  everything  that  looked  like  a  saddle  horse; 
this  last  with  a  view  to  preventing  any  chances  of  ulti- 
mate escape. 

These  matters  settled  they  continued  their  journey 
without  loss  of  time.  For  every  man  of  them  was 
sternly  eager  to  come  to  clinches  with  their  quarry. 


The  Trail  of  the  Rustlers  281 

The  excited  interest  was  running  high  as  they  neared 
their  goal.  Then  all  at  once  Smallbones  suddenly  threw 
the  whole  party  into  confusion  by  flinging  his  horse 
abruptly  upon  its  haunches,  and  wildly  pointing  up  the 
hillside  on  their  immediate  left. 

"  Gee  !  "  he  cried,  furiously.  "  Look  at  that.  There ! 
There !  There  he  goes  !  " 

But  there  was  no  need  for  his  added  explanation. 
Two  hundred  yards  away  to  their  left  a  horseman  was 
racing  headlong  in  a  parallel  direction.  It  needed  no 
imagination  to  tell  them  that  he  was  a  scout  carrying  the 
alarm  to  his  comrades  in  the  hollow  beyond. 

But  his  course  was  a  different  one  to  that  which 
might  have  been  expected,  for  it  showed  no  signs  of 
converging  with  the  track  below,  and  was  significant  of 
an  unsuspected,  possibly  secret  entrance  to  the  hiding- 
place. 

But  the  doctor  was  a  man  for  emergency.  Four  of 
the  men  carried  rifles,  and  these  he  warned  to  be  ready 
to  fire  on  the  fugitive  when  he  gave  the  word. 

Then  he  led  his  men  at  a  race  down  the  track. 

It  was  an  inspiring  spot  for  the  imaginative. 

A  little  cup  of  perfect  emerald  green  set  within  the 
darker  border  of  the  soft  pinewoods.  Above,  the  bril- 
liant sky  poured  down  a  dazzing  light  through  the 
funnel-like  opening  walled  by  an  almost  complete  circle 
of  hills.  But  the  circle  was  not  quite  complete.  There 
were  three  distinct,  but  narrow  rifts,  and  they  opened 
out  in  three  widely  opposite  directions.  The  cup  rim 
was  almost  equally  divided  into  three. 

In    a    spacious    corral  of  raw  timbers    a    number  of 


282  The  One- Way  Trail 

cattle  were  moving  restlessly  about,  vainly  searching  for 
something  with  which  to  satisfy  their  voracious  morning 
appetites.  Close  beside  the  corral  was  a  small  branding 
forge,  its  fire  smouldering  dismally  in  the  chill  air. 
Round  about  this,  strewn  upon  the  trampled  grass,  lay 
a  number  of  branding  irons,  coiled  ropes,  and  all  the 
paraphernalia  of  a  cattle-thief's  trade,  while  beside  the 
corral  itself  were  three  telltale  saddle  horses,  waiting 
ready  for  their  riders  on  the  first  sound  of  alarm. 

Fifty  yards  away  stood  a  log  hut.  It  was  solid  and 
practical,  and  comparatively  capacious.  A  couple  of 
yards  away  a  trench  fire  was  burning  cheerfully.  And  over 
it,  on  an  iron  hook-stanchion,  was  suspended  a  prairie 
cooking  "  billy,"  from  which  a  steaming  aroma,  most  ap- 
petizing at  that  hour  of  the  morning,  was  issuing.  Va- 
rious camping  utensils  were  scattered  carelessly  about, 
and  a  perfect  atmosphere  of  the  most  innocent  home- 
liness prevailed. 

On  the  sill  of  the  hut  door  Will  Henderson  was  seated 
smoking,  with  his  elbows  planted  on  his  knees,  and  his  two 
hands  supporting  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.  His  eyes  were 
as  calmly  contemplative  as  those  of  the  stolen  cattle  in 
the  corral. 

To  judge  by  his  expression,  he  had  no  thought  of 
danger,  and  his  affairs  were  prospering  to  his  keenest 
satisfaction.  His  handsome  boyish  face  had  lost  all 
signs  of  dissipation.  His  eyes,  if  sullen,  were  clear,  with 
the  perfect  health  of  his  outdoor,  mountain  life.  Nor 
was  there  anything  of  the  vicious  cattle-rustler  about 
him.  His  whole  expression  suggested  the  hard-working 
youngster  of  the  West,  virile,  strong,  and  bursting  with 
the  love  of  life. 


The  Trail  of  the  Rustlers  283 

But  here,  again,  appearances  were  all  wrong.  Will's 
mood  at  that  moment  was  dissatisfied,  suspicious. 
He  was  yearning  for  the  flesh-pots  of  town,  as  ex- 
ampled  by  the  bad  whiskey  and  poker  in  Silas  Rocket's 
saloon. 

Lying  on  the  ground,  close  against  the  hut  wall,  two 
low-looking  half-breeds  in  gaudy  shirts,  and  wearing 
their  black  hair  long  and  unkempt,  were  filling  in  the 
time  waiting  for  breakfast,  shooting  "  crap  dice."  The 
only  words  spoken  between  them  were  the  filthy  epithets 
and  slang  they  addressed  to  the  dice  as  they  threw  them, 
and  the  deep-throated  curses  as  money  passed  between 
them. 

No,  there  was  little  enough  to  suggest  the  traffic  in 
which  these  men  were  engaged.  Yet  each  knew  well 
enough  that  the  shadow  of  the  rope  was  hanging  over 
him,  and  that,  at  any  moment,  he  might  have  to  face  a 
life  and  death  struggle,  which  would  add  the  crime  of 
murder  to  the  list  of  his  transgressions. 

Will  slowly  removed  his    pipe  from  his  mouth. 

"  Say,  ain't  that  grub  ready  ? "  he  growled.  "  Hi, 
you,  Pete,  quit  those  dice  an'  see  to  it.  You're  '  chores  ' 
to-day.  We've  got  to  make  forty  miles  with  those 
damned  steers  before  sun-up  to-morrow." 

"  Ho,  you.     Git  a  look  at  the  grub  yourself.    Say " 

He  broke  off  listening.  Then  he  dropped  the  dice  he 
was  preparing  to  throw,  and  a  look  of  alarm  leaped  to 
his  eyes.  "  I  tink  I  hear  hoofs.  Hush  !  " 

Will  was  on  his  feet  in  a  second.  The  sullen  light 
had  vanished  from  his  eyes  and  a  startled  look  of  ap- 
prehension replaced  it. 

"  Those  plugs  cinched  up  ?  "  he    demanded    sharply. 


284  The  One- Way  Trail 

And  mechanically  his  hand  fell  on  the  butt  of  one  of  the 
guns  at  his  waist. 

"  Sure,"  nodded  the  other  half-breed. 

All  three  listened  acutely.  Yes,  the  sound  of  gallop- 
ing was  plain  to  their  trained  hearing.  The  mountains 
carried  a  tremendous  echo. 

Without  further  words  all  three  men  set  off  at  a  run  for 
the  corral.  Will  was  the  fleetest  and  reached  his  horse 
first.  In  a  second  he  was  in  the  saddle  and  sat  waiting, 
and  listening  for  the  next  alarming  sound. 

"  It's  Ganly,  sure,"  he  muttered,  turning  one  ear  in  the 
direction  of  the  rapidly  approaching  sound. 

"  Sounds  like  dogone  '  get  out/  "  cried  Pete,  sharply. 
The  shadow  of  the  rope  was  very  near  him  at  that 
moment. 

The  other  half-breed  nodded. 

"  Hist ! "  A  sudden  fear  leaped  into  Will's  eyes. 
"  There's  others,"  he  cried.  "  Come  on,  and  bad  luck  to 
the  hindmost !  Joe's  safe.  He  can  get  clear  by  the 
south  trail.  They  can't  follow  that  way.  I'm  for  the 
northeast.  You  best  follow.  Gee  !  " 

His  final  exclamation  burst  from  him  at  the  echoing 
reports  of  several  rifles.  And  now  the  sound  of  galloping 
hoofs  was  very  near.  The  men  waited  no  longer.  Will 
set  spurs  into  his  horse,  and  the  half-breeds,  follow- 
ing him,  raced  for  the  northeast  exit  from  the  hoi- 
low. 

But  they  had  waited  just  a  second  or  two  longer  than 
was  safe.  For,  as  they  reached  the  forest  path,  and  were 
vanishing  beneath  the  shadowy  trees,  a  fierce  yell  went  up 
behind  them.  Pete,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder, 
hissed  his  alarm  to  his  speeding  comrades. 


The  Trail  of  the  Rustlers  285 

"  Ho,  boy,  it's  Doc  Crombie,  an*  a  whole  gang.  An' 
dey  see  us,  too,  sure.  But  dey  never  catch  us  J  " 

Spurs  went  into  their  horses'  flanks  and  the  race  began. 
For  the  nooze  of  the  rope  was  looming  large  and  ominous 
before  their  terrified  eyes. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  hollow  they  divided  and 
went  their  ways  in  three  different  directions. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ON  THE  LITTLE  BLUFF  RIVER 

AWAY  to  the  west,  where  the  plains  cease  and  the  hills 
begin,  where  the  Little  Bluff  River  debouches  upon  the 
plains  from  its  secret  path  through  canon  and  crevasse, 
Jim  Thorpe  was  standing  beside  a  low  scrub  bush,  gazing 
ruefully  at  his  distressed  horse.  The  poor  brute  was  too 
tired  to  move  from  where  he  stood,  nipping  at  the  rich 
prairie  grass  about  his  feet.  He  still  had  the  strength 
and  necessary  appetite  to  do  this,  but  that  was  about  all. 

In  his  anxiety  to  serve  the  woman  he  loved  Jim  had 
done  what  years  ago  he  had  vowed  never  to  do.  He  had 
ridden  his  willing  servant  to  a  standstill. 

The  saddle  had  been  removed  for  more  than  an  hour 
and  was  lying  beside  the  bush,  and  the  man,  all  im- 
patience and  anxiety,  was  considering  his  position  and 
the  possibility  of  fulfilling  his  mission.  The  outlook  was 
pretty  hopeless.  He  judged  that  he  had  at  least  ten  miles 
to  go,  with  no  other  means  of  making  the  distance  than 
his  own  two  legs. 

And  then,  what  would  be  the  use  ?  Doc  Crombie  was 
probably  on  the  road.  He  had  heard  the  men  preparing 
for  the  start  before  he  left  the  village.  True,  they  had 
not  overtaken  him,  but  that  was  nothing.  There  were 
other  ways  of  reaching  the  rustlers'  hollow.  He  knew  of 
at  least  three  trails,  and  the  difference  in  the  distance 
between  them  was  infinitesimal. 


On  the  Little  Bluff  River  287 

For  all  he  knew  the  other  men  might  have  already- 
reached  their  destination.  Yes,  they  probably  had.  He 
had  been  out  of  the  saddle  more  than  an  hour.  It  was 
rotten  luck.  What  would  Eve  think  ?  He  had  failed 
her  in  her  extremity.  At  least  his  horse  had.  And  it 
was  much  the  same  thing.  He  realized  now  the  folly  of 
his  attempt  on  a  tired  horse.  But  then  there  had  been 
no  time  to  get  a  fresh  one.  No  possibility  of  getting  one 
without  rousing  suspicion.  Truly  his  luck  was  devilish. 

He  sat  down,  his  back  propped  against  the  stump  of  a 
dead  sapling.  And  from  beneath  the  wide  brim  of  his  hat, 
pressed  low  down  upon  his  forehead,  he  gazed  steadily 
out  over  the  greensward  at  the  southern  sky-line.  His 
face  was  moody.  His  feelings  were  depressed.  What 
could  he  do  ?  In  profound  thought  he  sat  clasping  one 
knee,  which  was  drawn  up  almost  to  his  chin. 

The  beauty  and  peace  of  the  morning  had  no  part  in 
his  thoughts  just  now.  Bitter  and  depressed  feelings 
ulone  occupied  him.  Behind  him  the  noisy  little  river 
rtped  upon  its  tumultuous  way,  just  below  sharp,  high 
banks,  and  entirely  screened  from  where  he  sat.  There 
was  a  gossipy,  companionable  suggestion  in  the  bustling 
of  the  noisy  waters.  But  the  feeling  was  lost  upon  him. 
He  prayed  for  inspiration,  for  help.  It  was  not  for  him- 
self. It  was  for  a  woman.  And  the  bitterness  of  it  all 
was  that  he,  he  with  all  his  longing,  was  denied  the 
power  to  help  her. 

He  turned  from  the  hills  with  a  feeling  of  irritation. 
Away  to  his  left  the  prairie  rolled  upward,  a  steady  rise  to 
a  false  sky-line  something  less  than  a  mile  away.  There 
was  sign  of  neither  man,  nor  beast,  nor  habitation  of  any 
sort  in  the  prospect.  There  was  just  the  river  bank  on 


288  The  One- Way  Trail 

which  he  sat  to  break  up  the  uniformity  of  the  plain. 
Here  was  bush,  here  were  trees,  but  they  were  few  and 
scattered. 

Presently  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  moved  over  to  his 
horse.  The  animal  lifted  its  head  and  looked  wistfully 
into  his  face.  The  man  interpreted  the  appeal  in  his 
own  fashion.  And  the  look  hurt  him.  It  was  as  if  the 
poor  beast  were  asking  to  be  allowed  to  go  on  feeding  a 
little  longer.  Jim  was  soft-hearted  for  all  dumb  animals, 
and  he  quietly  and  softly  swore  at  his  luck.  However, 
he  resaddled  the  animal  to  protect  its  back  from  the  sun 
and  turned  back  again  to  the  bush. 

But  he  never  reached  his  seat.  At  that  instant  the 
quiet  was  suddenly  and  harshly  broken.  The  stillness  of 
the  plain  seemed  literally  split  with  the  crack  of  firearms. 
Two  shots  rang  out  in  rapid  succession,  and  the  faintest  of 
echoes  from  the  distant  hills  suggested  an  opposing  fire 
at  long  range.  But  the  first  two  shots  were  near,  start- 
lingly  near. 

All  was  still  again.  The  man  stood  staring  out  in  the 
direction  whence  came  those  ominous  sounds.  No,  all 
was  not  quite  still  again.  His  quick  ears  detected  a  faint 
pounding  of  hoofs,  and  a  racing  thought  flew  through  his 
brain.  His  movements  became  swift,  yet  deliberate.  He 
crossed  over  to  his  horse  and  replaced  the  bit  in  its  mouth. 
Then  he  faced  round  at  the  rising  ground  and  watched  the 
sky-line.  It  was  thence  that  the  reports  had  come,  and 
his  practiced  ears  had  warned  him  that  they  were  pistol 
shots. 

Now  he  shaded  his  eyes  gazing  at  one  particular  spot 
on  the  sky-line.  For  his  horse,  too,  was  gazing  thither, 
with  its  ears  sharply  pricked.  And,  in  consequence,  he 


Also  he  was  gripping  a  heavy  revolver  in  his  hand. 

Page  228. 
The  One- Way  Trail. 


On  the  Little  Bluff  River  289 

knew  that  the  man,  or  men  who  had  fired  those  shots  were 
there,  beyond  the  rise. 

He  waited.  Suddenly  a  moving  speck  broke  the  sky- 
line. Momentarily  it  grew  larger.  Now  it  was  sufficiently 
silhouetted  for  him  to  recognize  it.  A  horseman  was 
coming  toward  him,  racing  as  hard  as  spurs  could  drive 
the  beast  under  him. 

Just  for  a  moment  he  wondered.  Then  he  glanced 
swiftly  round  at  the  river  behind  him.  Yes,  the  river. 
This  man  was  riding  from  the  hills.  And  he  understood 
in  a  flash.  He  was  pursued.  The  hounds  had  him  out  in 
the  open.  The  only  shelter  for  miles  around  was  the 
sparse  bush  at  the  riverside,  and — the  river  itself.  His 
interest  became  excitement,  and  a  sudden  wild  hope.  He 
now  searched  the  horizon  behind  the  man.  There  was 
not  a  soul  in  sight — and  yet — those  two  shots. 

But  the  situation  suddenly  became  critical  for  himself, 
He  realized  that  the  fugitive  had  seen  him.  From  a  low 
bending  attitude  over  his  horse's  neck  the  man  had  sud- 
denly sat  erect.  Also  he  was  gripping  a  heavy  revolver 
in  his  hand. 

Suddenly  a  further  excitement  stirred  the  waiting  man. 
As  the  fugitive  sat  up  he  recognized  him.  It  was  Will 
Henderson. 

He  was  still  a  hundred  yards  away,  but  the  distance 
was  rapidly  narrowing.  At  fifty  yards  he,  Jim,  would  be 
well  within  range,  and  the  memory  of  those  two  shots 
warned  him  that  the  revolver  in  the  horseman's  hand 
was  no  sort  of  bluff.  It  meant  business,  sure  enough, 
and  his  own  identity  was  not  in  the  least  likely  to  add  to 
his  safety.  He  must  convey  his  peaceful  intentions  at 
once. 


290  The  One- Way  Trail 

It  was  difficult.  He  dared  not  shout.  He  knew  how 
the  voice  traveled  over  the  plains.  Suddenly  he  re- 
membered. He  was  one  of  the  few  prairie  men  who  still 
clung  to  the  white  handkerchief  of  civilization.  He  drew 
one  out  of  his  pocket.  It  was  anything  but  clean,  but  it 
would  serve.  Throwing  up  both  arms  he  waved  it  furi- 
ously at  the  man.  This  he  did  three  times.  Then,  drop- 
ping it  to  the  ground,  he  held  up  both  hands  in  the 
manner  of  a  prairie  surrender. 

There  was  a  moment  of  anxious  waiting,  then,  to  his 
relief,  he  saw  Will  head  his  hard  blowing  horse  in  his 
direction.  But  still  retaining  his  hold  of  his  pistol,  he 
came  on.  And  in  those  few  moments  before  he  reached 
him  Jim  had  an  opportunity  of  close  observation. 

First  he  saw  that  the  horse  was  nearly  done.  Evidently 
the  chase  had  been,  if  short,  at  least  a  hard  one,  and  if  the 
hunters  were  close  behind,  there  was  little  enough  chance 
of  escape  for  him.  The  man's  eyes  were  alight  and  star- 
ing with  the  suspicious  look  of  the  hunted.  His  young 
mouth  was  set  desperately,  and  the  watching  man  read  in 
his  face  a  determination  to  sell  his  life  at  the  highest  pric* 
he  could  demand.  And  somehow,  in  spite  of  all  that  had 
gone,  he  felt  a  great  pity  for  him. 

Then,  in  a  moment,  his  pity  fled.  It  was  the  color  of 
the  man's  shirt  that  first  caught  his  attention.  It  was 
identical  with  his  own.  From  this  he  examined  the  rest 
of  his  clothing.  Will  Henderson  was  clad  as  much  like 
himself  as  possible.  And  the  meaning  of  it  was  quite 
plain  to  him. 

The  horseman  came  up.  He  flung  himself  back  in  the 
saddle  and  reined  his  horse  up  with  a  jerk. 

"  What's   your   game  ? "   he   demanded    fiercely,   still 


On  the  Little  Bluff  River  291 

gripping  the  threatening  revolver,  as  Jim  dropped  his 
hands. 

"  I  came  to  warn  you — but  my  horse  foundered. 
See." 

Jim  pointed  at  the  dejected  beast.  "  I  came  because 
she  asked  me  to  come,"  he  added. 

Will  glanced  back  up  the  hill.  It  needed  little  enough 
imagination  to  guess  what  he  was  looking  for. 

"  Well,  the  game's  up,  and — I'm  hunted.  They're 
about  three  miles  behind — all  except  one."  He  laughed 
harshly.  Then  he  caught  Jim's  eyes.  "  You  came  be- 
cause she  sent  you  ?  That  means  you're  goin'  to  help 
me,  I  guess,  but  only — because  she  sent  you.  Are  you 
goin'  to?"  He  edged  his  gun  forward  so  that  the  other 
could  not  miss  seeing  it. 

But  Jim  had  no  fear.  He  was  thinking  with  all  the 
power  of  his  brain.  Time  was  everything.  He  doubted 
they  had  more  than  five  minutes.  He  knew  this  patch 
of  country  by  heart,  which  was  one  of  the  reasons  he 
had  taken  the  northern  trail.  Now  his  knowledge  served 
him. 

He  answered  instantly,  utterly  ignoring  the  threatening 
gun. 

"  Yes.  Now  get  this  quickly.  Your  only  chance  is  to 
drop  down  into  that  river.  It's  shallow,  though  swift — 
about  two  feet  to  possibly  two  and  a  half.  Ride  down 
stream  for  two  miles.  It  winds  tremendously,  so  the 
others  won't  see  you.  You'll  come  to  a  thick  patch  of 
woods  on  either  bank.  Take  the  left  bank,  and  make 
through  the  woods,  north.  Then  keep  right  on  to  some 
high  foot-hills  about  ten  miles  due  north.  Once  there 
you  can  dodge  'em,  sure.  Anyway  it's  up  to  you.  Leave 


292  The  One- Way  Trail 

'em  to  me,  when  they  come  up.  I'll  do  my  best  to  put 
'em  off." 

Jim's  voice  was  cold  enough,  but  he  spoke  rapidly. 
Will,  who  had  turned  again  to  scan  the  sky-line,  now 
looked  down  at  him  suspiciously. 

41  Is  this  bluff — or  straight  business  ?  "  he  demanded 
harshly. 

Jim  shrugged. 

"  You  best  get  on — if  you're  going  to  clear.  You  said 
they  were  three  miles  off,"  he  reminded  him,  in  the  same 
cold  manner. 

Will  looked  back.  He  was  still  doubtful,  but— he 
realized  he  must  take  the  advice.  He  had  delayed  too 
long  now  for  anything  else. 

"  She  sent  you,  eh  ?  "  he  asked,  sharply.  "  It's  not  your 
own  doin'  ?  " 

"  I've  no  sympathy  with — cattle-thieves,"  Jim  retorted. 
"  Git,  quick  !  " 

His  eyes  were  on  the  horizon  now.  And  it  was  his 
alert  look  that  finally  decided  the  doubting  man.  He 
swung  his  horse  round,  and  rode  for  the  river. 

"  So  long,"  he  called  back.  But  there  was  no  word  of 
thanks.  Neither  had  the  other  any  response  to  his  fare- 
well. 

Jim  watched  him  till  he  disappeared,  then  he  turned 
again  to  the  rising  grassland  and  watched  for  the  coming 
of  the  hunters.  And  as  he  watched  his  thoughts  reverted 
to  the  doctrine  of  the  one-way  trail.  Will  was  traveling 
it  hard.  For  him  there  was  certainly  no  turning  back 
now. 

But  his  horse  had  ceased  grazing  again,  and  once  more 
stood  with  ears  pricked,  gazing  up  the  slope.  Its  master 


On  the  Little  Bluff  River  293 

understood.  This  was  no  moment  to  consider  abstract 
problems,  however  they  might  interest  him.  Stern  reality 
lay  ahead  of  him,  and  he  knew  he  was  in  for  an  un- 
pleasant time.  He  linked  his  arm  through  his  horse's 
reins,  and,  with  head  bent,  trailed  slowly  up  the  incline, 
pausing  and  stooping  to  examine  the  hoof-prints  of  Will 
Henderson's  horse,  as  though  it  were  a  trail  he  had  just 
discovered,  and  was  anxious  to  learn  its  meaning.  He 
was  thinking  hard  the  while,  and  calculating  his  chances 
when  the  hunters  should  come  up. 

While  he  appeared  to  be  studying  the  track  so  closely, 
he  yet  was  watching  the  hill-crest  ahead.  He  knew  the 
men  were  rapidly  approaching,  for  the  rumble  of  gallop- 
ing horses  was  quite  distinct  to  his  well-trained  ears.  He 
wanted  his  intentness  to  be  at  its  closest  when  the  gang 
first  discovered  him. 

He  had  his  wish.  As  the  men  topped  the  ridge  he 
was  on  one  knee  studying  a  clearer  imprint  than  usual. 
Doc  Crombie  and  Smallbones,  riding  at  the  head  of  a 
party  of  five  men,  saw  hjm,  and  the  latter  shouted  his 

joy- 

"Gee!  we've  got  him!  Say "  He  broke  off, 

staring  hard  at  the  kneeling  figure.  The  outline  was 
familiar.  Suddenly  Jim  stood  up,  and  the  little  man  in- 
stantly recognized  him.  "  Guess  you  lost  that  three- 
year-old  '  driver,'  Doc,"  he  cried,  his  face  alight  with 
malice.  "  Ther's  our  man,  an' — it's  Jim  Thorpe.  I 
thought  I  rec'nized  him  from  the  first,  when  he  broke 
cover.  This  is  bully  ! " 

But  the  stern-faced  doctor  had  no  answer  for  him. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  man,  who  now  stood  calmly 
waiting  for  him  to  approach.  Experienced  in  such  mat- 


294  The  One- Way  Trail 

ters  as  he  was,  he  looked  for  the  threatening  gun  in  Jim 
Thorpe's  hand.  There  was  none.  On  the  contrary,  the 
man  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  them  in  the  friendliest 
spirit.  There  was  his  horse,  too  ;  why  was  he  on  foot  ? 
It  struck  him  that  the  riddle  wanted  more  reading  than 
Smallbones  had  given  it.  He  was  not  so  sure  he  had  yet 
lost  that  three-year-old  "  driver." 

Jim  made  no  change  of  position  as  they  clattered  up. 
Smallbones  was  ahead,  with  a  gun  leveled  as  he  came. 

"  Hands  up !  Hands  up,  you  dogone  skunk,  or  I'll 
blow  your  roof  off!  "  he  cried  fiercely. 

But  Jim  only  grinned.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  grin, 
either,  for  the  hardware  dealer's  epithet  infuriated  him. 

"  Don't  be  a  blamed  fool,  Smallbones,"  he  said  sharply. 
"  You're  rattled." 

"  Put  your  darned  hands  up,  or !  " 

But  Doc  Crombie  knocked  the  little  man's  gun  up. 

"  Say,  push  that  back  in  its  kennel,"  he  cried,  harshly. 
"  You  sure  ain't  safe  with  a  gun." 

Then,  after  seeing  that  his  comrade  obeyed  him,  and 
permitting  himself  a  shadowy  grin  at  the  man's  crest- 
fallen air,  he  turned  to  Jim  Thorpe. 

"  Wai  ?  "  he  drawled  questioningly. 

"  Thanks,  Doc,"  said  Jim,  with  a  cheery  smile.  "  I 
guess  you  saved  my  life.  Smallbones  shouldn't  be  out 
without  his  nurse."  Then  he  glanced  swiftly  down  at 
the  track  he  had  been  examining.  "  Say,  I've  hit  a  trail 
right  here.  It  goes  on  down  to  the  river,  an'  I  can't  lo- 
cate it  further.  I  was  just  going  back  on  it  a  piece. 
Guess  you've  come  along  in  the  same  direction.  Seef 
here  it  is.  A  horse  galloping  hell-for-leather.  Guess  it's 
not  a  lope.  By  the  splashing  of  sand,  I'd  say  he  was 


On  the  Little  Bluff  River  295 

racing."  He  looked  fearlessly  into  the  doctor's  eyes,  but 
his  heart  was  beating  hard  with  guilty  consciousness. 
He  was  trying  to  estimate  the  man's  possible  attitude. 

"  That's  the  trail  we're  on,"  the  doctor  said  sharply. 
"  Say,  how  long  you  been  here  ?  "  he  inquired,  glancing 
at  Jim's  horse. 

11  Well,  round  about  here,  getting  on  for  two  hours." 

"  What  are  you  out  here  for,  anyway  ?  " 

Jim  glanced  from  the  doctor  to  Smallbones,  and  then 
on  at  the  rest  of  the  men.  They  were  all  cattlemen, 
none  of  them  were  villagers.  He  laughed  suddenly. 

"  Say,  is  this  an — er — inquisition  ?  " 

"  Sure."     The  doctor's  reply  rapped  out  tartly. 

"  Well,  that  being  the  way  of  things,  guess  I'd  best  tell 
you  first  as  last.  You  see,  I  got  back  to  the  village  yes- 
terday afternoon.  As  maybe  you  know,  I've  been  out 
nearly  two  days  on  the  trail.  Well,  late  last  night,  Elia 
Marsham  came  to  me  with  a  yarn  about  a  hollow  in  the 
hills,  where  he  said  he'd  seen  the  rustlers  at  work.  He 
told  me  how  to  find  it,  an' — well,  I  hit  the  trail.  I  hoped 
to  head  you,  and  get  'em  myself,  but,"  with  a  shrug,  "  I 
guess  I  was  a  fool  some.  My  plug  petered  out  two 
hours  back,  and  I  had  to  quit.  You  see  he  was  stale  at 
the  start." 

"  An'  this  trail  ?  "  snapped  the  doctor. 

"  I  was  way  back  there  down  the  river  a  goodish  piece, 
getting  a  sleep  by  the  bush,  and  easing  my  plug,  when  I 
woke  up  quick.  Seemed  to  me  I  heard  a  gunshot. 
Maybe  I  was  dreaming.  Anyway  I  sat  up  and  took 
notice,  but  didn't  see  a  thing.  So,  after  a  while,  I  got 
dozing  again.  Then  my  plug  started  to  neigh,  and  kept 
whinnying.  I  got  around  then,  guessing  something  was 


296  The  One- Way  Trail 

doing.  So  I  started  to  chase  up  the  river.  Then  I 
found  this  trail.  It's  new,  fresh  done  this  morning,  sure. 
Guess  it  must  have  been  some  feller  passing  that  worried 
my  horse.  You  say  you're  on  this  trail  ?  Whose  ?  It 
isn't — eh  ?  "  as  the  doctor  nodded.  "  Then  come  right 
on  down  to  the  river.  We're  losing  time." 

Jim  turned  to  lead  his  horse  away,  but  Smallbones 
laughed.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  derision,  the  chal- 
lenge of  that  laugh.  Jim  turned  again,  and  the  look  he 
favored  the  hardware  dealer  with  was  one  that  did  not 
escape  the  doctor,  who  promptly  interposed. 

"  If  you're  right  an'  he's  wrong,  you've  got  time  in 
plenty  to  correct  him  later,  Jim,"  he  said,  in  his  stern 
fashion.  "  Meanwhiles  you'll  keep  your  face  closed, 
Smallbones,  or — light  right  out."  Then  he  turned  back  to 
Jim.  "  Ther'  ain't  a  heap  o'  hurry  now,  boy,  fer  that  fel- 
ler. His  horse  was  nigh  done,"  he  went  on,  glancing  at 
the  dejected  creature  Jim  was  leading.  "  Done  jest  about 
as  bad  as  yours.  An'  his  plug  was  the  same  color,  and 
he  was  rigged  out  much  as  you  are."  Then  his  tone  be- 
came doubly  harsh.  "  Say,  the  feller  we're  chasin'  was 
your  build.  He  was  so  like  you  in  cut,  and  his  plug  so  like 
yours,  that  if  I  put  it  right  here  to  the  vote  I'm  guessin' 
you'd  hang  so  quick  you'd  wonder  how  it  was  done. 
But  then,  you  see,  I've  got  two  eyes,  an'  some  elegant 
savvee,  which  some  folks  ain't  blessed  with,"  with  an  eye 
in  Smallbones'  direction.  "  An'  I  tell  you  right  here 
ther's  just  the  fact  your  plug  is  stone  cold  between  you  an' 
a  rawhide  rope.  You  jest  couldn't  be  the  man  we're 
chasin'  'less  you're  capable  o'  miracles.  Get  me  ?  But 
I'm  goin'  to  do  some  straight  talk.  Not  more  than  ten 
minutes  gone  the  feller  we're  after  shot  down  one  o'  the 


On  the  Little  Bluff  River  297 

boys  back  ther'  over  the  rise.  That  boy  Was  on  a  fast 
hoss,  an'  was  close  on  that  all-fired  Dago's  heels.  Wai, 
he  got  it  plenty,  an'  we're  goin'  back  to  bury  that  honest 
citizen  later.  Meanwhiles,  ten  minutes  gone  that  rustler 
got  down  here,  an'  as  you  say,  made  that  river,  an'  you 
-you  didn't  see  him.  Get  me  ?  You're  jest  goin'  to 
show  me  wher'  you  sat." 

For  a  second  Jim's  heart  seemed  to  stand  still.  He 
was  not  used  to  lying.  However,  he  realized  only  too 
well  how  the  least  hesitation  would  surely  hang  him,  and 
he  promptly  nodded  his  head. 

"  Sure  I  will.  Come  right  along."  And  he  led  the 
way  diagonally  from  the  horseman's  tracks,  so  as  to  strike 
the  river  obliquely. 

It  was  a  silent  procession,  and  the  air  was  charged  with 
possible  disaster.  Jim  walked  ahead,  his  horse  hanging 
back  and  being  urged  forward  by  no  very  gentle  kicks 
from  Smallbones. 

And  as  he  walked  he  thought  hard.  He  was  strug- 
gling to  remember  a  likely  spot.  He  dare  not  choose  one 
where  grass  lay  under  foot.  These  men  had  eyes  like 
hawks  for  a  spot  on  such  ground.  There  was  only  one 
underlay  where  their  eyes  could  be  fooled,  and  that  was 
under  the  shelter  of  a  pine  tree,  where  the  pine-needles 
prevented  impress  and  yielded  no  trace  of  footsteps.  Was 
there  such  a  spot  near  by  ?  He  vaguely  remembered  a 
small  cluster  of  such  trees  beside  his  track,  but  he  couldn't 
remember  how  far  away  it  lay.  He  knew  he  must  take 
a  big  risk. 

He  did  not  hesitate,  and,  though  slowly,  he  walked  de- 
liberately in  a  definite  direction,  winding  in  and  out  the 
bush.  Then  to  his  intense  relief,  after  about  five  minutes' 


298  The  One- Way  Trail 

walking,  he  saw  the  trees  he  was  looking  for.  Yes,  they 
were  right  in  his  track,  and  he  remembered  now  skirting 
them  as  he  came  along.  But  he  was  not  yet  clear  of 
trouble  by  any  means.  What  was  the  underlay  like? 

He  avoided  giving  any  sign  of  his  destination.  That 
was  most  important.  And  he  was  fearful  lest  he  should 
be  questioned.  He  knew  the  shrewdness  of  the  redoubt- 
able doctor,  and  he  feared  it.  He  was  on  his  own  track 
now,  which  showed  plain  enough  in  the  grass.  And  as 
he  came  to  the  clump  of  pines  he  still  kept  on  until  he 
had  practically  passed  it.  He  did  this  purposely.  It  was 
necessary  to  satisfy  himself  that  the  ground  under  the 
trees  was  bare  except  for  a  thick  carpet  of  pine-needles. 
Fortune  was  with  him  for  once,  and  he  suddenly  turned 
and  led  his  horse  in  among  the  trees.  As  he  walked  he 
disturbed  the  carpet  as  much  as  he  could  without  attract- 
ing attention,  and  having  come  to  a  halt,  he  quickly 
turned  his  horse  about  the  further  to  disturb  the  underlay. 
Then  he  flung  himself  into  a  sitting  posture  at  the  foot 
of  one  of  the  trees,  at  the  same  time  deliberately  raising 
a  dust  with  his  feet. 

"  This  is  the  spot,"  he  said,  looking  frankly  up  into  the 
doctor's  face.  "  I  s'pose  I  must  have  been  here  some- 
where around  two  hours.  How  far  have  we  come  ?  A 
matter  of  two  hundred  yards  ?  Look  out  there.  It's 
more  or  less  a  blank  outlook  of  trees." 

But  Doc  Crombie  was  studying  the  ground.  Jim 
sprang  up  and  began  to  move  round  his  horse,  feeling  the 
cinchas  of  his  saddle.  He  felt  he  could  reasonably  do 
this,  and  further  disturb  the  underlay  without  exciting  sus- 
picion. It  was  a  dreadful  moment  for  him,  for  he  noted 
that  all  eyes  were  closely  scrutinizing  the  ground. 


On  the  Little  Bluff  River  299 

Suddenly  the  doctor  fixed  an  eagle  glance  on  his  face. 
Jim  met  it.  He  believed  it  to  be  the  final  question.  But 
the  man  gave  him  no  satisfaction.  He  left  him  with  the 
uncertainty  as  to  whether  he  had  wholly  fooled  him  or  not. 
His  words  were  peremptory. 

"  We'll  git  back  an'  finish  the  hunt,"  he  declared. 
Then,  "  Will  that  durned  plug  carry  you  now  ?  " 

Jim  shrugged. 

"Maybe  at  a  walk." 

"  Wai,  git  right  on." 

Jim  obeyed.  It  would  have  been  madness  to  refuse. 
But  his  brain  was  desperately  busy. 

They  rode  back  to  the  river  bank  at  the  point  where 
the  fugitive  had  taken  to  the  water.  Most  of  the  men 
dismounted,  and,  with  noses  to  the  ground,  they  studied 
the  tracks.  Two  or  three  moved  along  the  bank  vainly 
endeavoring  to  discover  the  man's  further  direction  ;  and 
two  of  them  rode  across  to  the  opposite  side.  But  the 
banks  told  them  nothing.  Their  quarry  had  obviously 
not  crossed  the  water.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  was  spent 
thus,  Jim  helping  all  he  knew  ;  then  finally  Doc  Crombie 
called  his  men  together. 

"  We'll  git  right  on,"  he  declared  authoritatively. 

"  Which  way?  "  inquired  Smallbones.  He  was  angry, 
but  looked  depressed. 

The  doctor  considered  a  moment,  and  the  men  stood 
round  waiting. 

"  We'll  head  up-stream  for  the  hills,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  Guess  he'll  make  that  way.  We'll  divide  up  on  either 
side  of  the  river.  Guess  you  best  take  three  men,  Small- 
bones,  an'  cross  over.  You,  Thorpe,  '11  stop  with  me." 

But  Thorpe  shook  his  head.     He  saw  an  opportunity  to 


300  The  One-Way  Trail 

play  a  big  hand  for  Eve,  and,  win  or  lose,  he  meant  to 
play  it.  He  would  not  have  attempted  it  on  a  man  less 
keen  than  the  doctor. 

"  You're  wrong,  Doc,"  he  said  coolly,  and  all  eyes  were 
at  once  turned  upon  him.  Every  man  in  the  party  was 
at  once  agog  with  interest,  for  not  one  of  them  but  shared 
Smallbones'  suspicion  in  some  degree,  however  little  it 
might  be. 

"  See  here,"  Jim  went  on,  with  a  great  show  of  enthu- 
siasm, "  do  you  know  this  river?  Well,"  as  the  doctor 
shook  his  head,  "  I  do.  That's  why  I  came  this  trail.  I 
guessed  if  any  of  the  rustlers  were  liable  to  hit  the  trail, 
it  'ud  be  somewhere  around  this  river.  You  figger  he's 
gone  up-stream.  I'd  gamble  he's  gone  down.  There's  a 
heavy  timber  two  miles  or  so  down-stream,  and  that  timber 
is  a  sheer  cover  right  up  to  the  hills  farther  north.  D'you 
get  me  ?  Well,  personally,  I  don't  think  he's  gone  up- 
stream— so  I  hunt  down." 

He  was  relying  on  the  independence  of  his  manner 
and  the  truth  of  his  arguments  for  success,  and  he 
achieved  it  even  beyond  his  hopes.  Doc  Crombie's  eyes 
blazed. 

"  You'll  hunt  with  me,  Jim  Thorpe,"  he  cried  sharply. 

But  Jim  was  ready.     This  was  what  he  was  looking  for. 

"  See  here,  Doc,  I'm  not  out  for  foolishness,  neither  are 
you.  Oh,  yes,  I  know  I'm  suspected,  and  there's  folks, 
especially  our  friend  Smallbones,  would  like  to  hang  me 
right  off.  Well,  get  busy  and  do  the  hanging,  I  shan't 
resist,  and  you'll  all  live  to  regret  it ;  that  is,  except  Small- 
bones.  However,  this  is  my  point.  This  suspicion  is  on 
me,  and  I've  got  to  clear  it.  I'm  a  sight  more  interested 
than  any  of  you  fellows.  I  believe  that  fellow  has  headed 


On  the  Little  Bluff  River  301 

down-stream,  and  I  claim  the  right,  in  my  own  self-de- 
fense, to  follow  him  as  far  as  my  horse  will  let  me.  I 
want  to  hit  his  trail,  and  I'll  run  him  to  earth  if  I  have  to 
do  it  on  foot.  And  I  tell  you  right  here  you've  no 
authority  to  stop  me.  I'm  not  a  vigilante,  and  you're 
not  a  sheriff,  nor  even  a  '  deputy.'  I  tell  you  you  have 
neither  moral  nor  legal  right  to  prevent  me  clearing  my- 
self in  my  own  way." 

"  Want  to  get  rid  of  us,"  snarled  Smallbones. 

Jim  turned  on  him  like  a  knife. 

"  I've  a  score  to  settle  with  you,  and,  small  as  you  are, 
you're  going  to  get  all  that's  coming  to  you — later." 

"  You'll  have  to  get  busy  quick,  or  you  won't  have 
time,"  grinned  the  little  man,  making  a  hideous  motion 
of  hanging. 

But  further  bickering  was  prevented  by  the  doctor. 
At  this  moment  he  rose  almost  to  the  greatness  which 
his  associates  claimed  for  him.  Bitter  as  his  feelings 
were  at  thus  openly  being  defied  and  flouted,  he  refused 
to  blind  himself  to  the  justness  of  the  other's  plea.  He 
even  acquiesced  with  a  decent  grace,  although  he  re- 
fused— as  Jim  knew  he  would — to  change  his  own 
opinions. 

"  Hit  your  trail,  boy,"  he  cried,  in  his  large,  harsh  voice. 
"  Guess  you  sure  got  the  rights  of  a  free  citizen,  an' — good 
luck." 

He  rode  off;  and  Smallbones,  with  a  venomous  glance 
back  at  the  triumphant  Jim,  started  across  the  river.  Jim 
remounted  his  horse  and  rode  off  down  the  river.  He 
glanced  back  at  the  retreating  party  with  the  doctor,  and 
sighed  his  relief.  He  felt  as  though  he  had  been  passing 
through  a  lifetime  of  crime,  and  ahead  lay  safety. 


302  The  One- Way  Trail 

He  did  not  attempt  to  push  his  tired  horse  faster  than 
a  walk,  but  continued  on  until  he  came  to  the  woods, 
where  he  knew  Will  had  sought  shelter;  then  he  off- 
saddled.  He  had  no  intention  of  proceeding  farther  until 
sundown. 

He  thanked  his  stars  that  he  had  read  Doc  Crombie 
aright.  He  would  never  have  dared  to  bluff  a  lesser  man 
than  he. 

And  then,  having  seated  himself  for  rest  under  a  bush, 
his  last  waking  thoughts  were  black  with  the  despair  of 
an  honest  man  who  has  finally  and  voluntarily  made  it 
impossible  to  prove  his  own  innocence. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

ANNIE 

Doc  CROMBIE  and  his  men  had  returned  to  BarnrifF 
after  a  long  and  fruitless  hunt.  Two  days  and  two  nights 
they  had  spent  on  the  trail.  They  had  found  the  haunt 
of  the  rustlers ;  they  had  seen  the  men — at  least,  they 
had  had  an  excellent  view  of  their  backs ;  they  had  pur- 
sued— and  they  had  lost  them  all  four.  But  this  was  not 
all.  One  of  the  boys  had  been  shot  down  in  his  tracks 
by  the  man  they  believed  to  be  the  leader  of  the  gang. 
So  it  was  easy  enough  to  guess  their  temper. 

The  doctor  said  little,  because  that  was  his  way  when 
things  went  wrong.  But  the  iron  possessed  his  soul  to  a 
degree  that  suggested  all  sorts  of  possibilities.  And 
Barnriff  was  a  raging  cauldron  of  fury  and  disappoint- 
ment. So  was  the  entire  district,  for  the  news  was 
abroad,  travelling  with  that  rapidity  which  is  ever  the 
case  with  the  news  of  disaster.  Every  rancher  was,  to 
use  a  local  phrase,  "  up  in  the  air,  and  tearing  his  sky- 
piece  "  (his  hair),  which  surely  meant  that  before  long 
there  would  be  trouble  for  some  one,  the  nature  of  which 
would  be  quite  easy  to  guess. 

The  "  hanging  committee,"  as  the  vigilantes  were 
locally  called,  "returned  at  sundown,  and  the  evening  was 
spent  in  spreading  the  news.  Thus  it  was  that  Annie 
Gay  learned  the  public  feeling,  and  the  general  drift  of 
Barnriff's  thought.  Her  husband  dutifully  gave  her  his 
own  opinions  first,  that  there  might  be  no  doubt  in  her 


304  The  One- Way  Trail 

own  mind ;  then  he  proceeded  to  show  her  how  Barnriff 
saw  these  things. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said.  "  What  ken  you  expect  wi' 
folk  like  Smallbones  an'  sech  on  a  committee  like  this  ! 
Doc's  to  blame,  sure.  Ef  he'd  sed  to  me, «  Gay,  you  fix 
this  yer  racket.  I  leave  it  to  you/  I'd  sure  'a'  got  men  in 
the  gang,  an'  we'd  'a'  cleared  the  country  of  all  sech  go- 
phers as  rustlers.  But  ther',  guess  I  don't  need  to  tell 
you  'bout  Doc." 

Annie's  loyalty  to  him  stood  the  test,  and  she  waited 
for  the  rest.  It  came  with  his  recounting  of  the  details 
of  their  exploits.  He  told  her  of  their  journey,  of  the 
race.  Then  he  passed  on  to  the  story  of  the  Little  Bluff 
River,  as  he  had  been  told  it  by  Smallbones.  He  assured 
her  that  now  everybody,  urged  on  by  Smallbones,  wanted 
to  hang  somebody,  and,  as  far  as  he  could  make  out,  un- 
less they  quickly  laid  hands  on  the  real  culprit,  Jim 
Thorpe  was  likely  violently  to  terminate  his  checkered 
career  over  the  one-way  trail. 

He  was  convinced  that  the  venom  of  Smallbones,  added 
to  the  tongues  of  the  women,  which  were  beginning  to 
wag  loudly  af  what  they  believed  was  Jim's  clandestine 
intimacy  with  Eve  during  her  husband's  absence,  would 
finally  overcome  the  scruples  of  Doc  Crombie  and  force 
him  to  yield  to  the  popular  cry. 

He  gave  her  much  detail,  all  of  which  she  added  to 
her  own  knowledge.  And,  with  her  husband's  approval, 
decided  to  go  to  Eve,  and,  in  her  own  phraseology,  "  do 
what  she  could."  Her  husband  really  sent  her,  for  he 
liked  Jim  Thorpe. 

So,  on  the  third  morning,  Annie  set  out  on  her  errand 
of  kindly  warning.  The  position  was  difficult.  But  she 


Annie  305 

realized  that  this  was  no  time  to  let  her  feelings  hinder 
her.  She  loved  Eve,  and,  like  her  husband,  she  had  a 
great  friendliness  for  Jim. 

Then  she  was  convinced  that  there  was  nothing  be- 
tween these  two  yet,  other  than  had  always  existed,  a 
liking  on  the  woman's  part  and  a  deep,  wholesome,  self- 
sacrificing  love  on  the  man's.  She  saw  the  danger  for 
Eve  well  enough,  since  her  husband  had  turned  out  so 
badly ;  but  her  sympathetic  heart  went  out  to  her,  and 
she  would  never  have  opened  her  mouth  to  say  one  word 
to  her  detriment,  even  if  she  knew  the  women's  accusa- 
tions to  be  true.  In  fact,  in  a  wave  of  sentimental 
emotion,  she  rather  hoped  they  were  true.  Eve  deserved 
a  little  happiness,  and,  if  it  lay  in  her  power  to  help  her 
to  any,  she  would  certainly  not  hesitate  to  offer  her 
services. 

To  Eve,  righting  her  lonely  battle  in  the  solitude  of 
her  small  home,  amidst  the  cloth  and  trimmings  of  her 
trade,  the  sight  of  Annie's  cheerful,  friendly  face  always 
had  a  rousing  effect.  She  lived  from  day  to  day  in  a 
world  of  grinding  fear.  Her  mind  was  never  clear  of  it 
now.  And  she  clung  to  her  work  as  being  the  only  pos- 
sible thing.  She  dared  not  go  out  more  than  she  was 
actually  obliged  for  fear  of  hearing  the  news  she  dreaded. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  wait  for  the  sword  to 
fall. 

But  these  last  three  days  her  fears  had  been  divided, 
and  she  found  herself  torn  in  two  different  directions  by 
them.  Where  before  it  had  always  been  her  husband, 
now,  ever  since  the  night  of  Jim  Thorpe's  going,  he  was 
rarely  out  of  her  thoughts.  Now,  even  more  than  at  the 
time  when  she  first  understood  the  sacrifice  he  was  about 


3o6  The  One-Way  Trail 

to  make  for  her.  And  the  nobleness  of  it  appealed  to 
her  simple  woman's  mind  as  something  sublime.  He 
was  a  branded  man  before,  but  now,  so  long  as  he  re- 
mained in  Barnriff,  or  wherever  he  met  a  man  who  had 
lived  in  Barnriff  at  this  time,  so  long  as  Will  escaped  cap- 
ture, the  pointing  finger  would  be  able  to  mark  honest 
Jim  Thorpe  as  a — cattle-thief.  He  was  powerless  to  do 
more  than  deny  it.  The  horror  of  it  was  dreadful. 

He  had  done  it  for  her.  And  her  woman's  heart  told 
her  why.  Her  thoughts  flew  back  to  those  days,  such  a 
little  way  back,  yet,  to  her,  so  far,  far  away,  when  his 
kind  serious  eyes  used  to  look  into  hers  in  their  gentle 
caressing  fashion,  when  his  unready  tongue  used  to  halt 
over  speaking  those  nice  things  a  woman,  in  her  simple 
vanity,  loves  to  hear  from  a  man  she  likes.  She  thought 
of  the  little  presents  he  used  to  make  her  so  awkwardly, 
all  prompted  by  his  great,  golden,  loving  heart. 

And  she  had  passed  him  by  for  that  other.  The  man 
with  the  ready,  specious  tongue,  with  the  buoyant,  self- 
satisfied  air,  with  the  bright,  merry  eyes  of  one  who 
knows  his  power  with  women,  who  rarely  fails  to  win, 
and,  having  won  easily,  no  longer  cares  for  his  plaything. 
But  she  had  loved  Will  then,  and  had  Jim  been  an  angel 
sent  straight  from  heaven  he  could  not  then  have  taken 
her  from  him. 

But  now  ?  Ah,  well,  now  everything  was  different. 
She  was  older.  She  was,  perhaps,  sadly  wiser.  She  was 
also  married,  and  Jim  was,  could  be,  nothing  to  her. 
His  nobleness  to  her  was  the  nobleness  which  was  not 
the  result  of  a  selfish  love  that  looks  and  hopes  for  its  re- 
ward, she  told  herself.  It  was  part  of  the  man.  He 
would  have  acted  that  way  whatever  his  feelings  for  her. 


Annie  307 

He  was  a  great,  loyal  friend,  she  told  herself  again  and 
again,  and  her  feeling  for  him  was  friendliness,  a  friendli- 
ness she  thanked  God  for,  and  nothing  more.  She  told 
herself  all  this,  as  many  a  woman  has  told  herself  before, 
and  she  fancied,  as  many  another  good  and  virtuous 
woman  has  fancied,  that  she  believed  it 

When  Annie  entered  her  workroom  she  looked  up 
with  a  wistful  smile  of  welcome,  but  the  sight  of  the 
clouds  obscuring  the  s.unshine  of  the  girl's  face  stopped 
her  sewing-machine  at  once,  and  ready  sympathy  found 
prompt  expression  in  her  gentle  voice. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  "  she  inquired*  "  You  look — you 
look  as  if  you,  too,  were  in  trouble." 

Annie  tried  to  smile  back  in  response.  But  it  was  a 
poor  attempt.  She  had  been  thinking  so  hard  on  her 
way  to  Eve.  She  had  been  calculating  and  figuring  so 
keenly  in  her  woman's  way.  And  curiously  enough  she 
had  managed  to  make  the  addition  of  two  and  two  into 
four.  She  felt  that  she  must  not  hesitate  now,  or  the 
courage  to  display  the  accuracy  of  her  calculation,  and 
at  the  same  time  help  her  friend,  would  evaporate. 

41  Trouble  ?  "  she  echoed  absently.  "  Trouble  enough 
for  sure,  but  not  for  me,  Eve,"  she  stepped  round  to  the 
girl's  side  and  laid  a  protecting  arm  about  her  shoulders. 
"  You  can  quit  those  fears  you  once  told  me  of,  I — 
think  he's  safe  away." 

Had  Annie  needed  confirmation  of  her  deductive  logic 
she  had  it.  The  look  of  absolute  horror  which  suddenly 
leaped  into  Eve's  drawn  face  was  overwhelming.  Annie's 
arm  tightened  round  her  shoulders,  for  she  thought  the 
distraught  woman  was  about  to  faint. 

"  Don't  say  a  word,  Eve,  dear.     Don't  you — now  don't 


308  The  One- Way  Trail 

you,"  she  cried.  "  I'm  going  to  do  the  talking.  But  first 
I'll  just  shut  the  door."  She  crossed  to  the  door,  speak- 
ing as  she  went.  "  You've  just  got  to  sit  an'  listen,  while 
I  tell  you  all  about  it.  An'  when  we've  finished,  dear," 
she  said,  coming  back  to  her  place  beside  her,  "  ther's 
just  one  thing,  an'  only  one  person  we've  got  to  think 
an'  speak  about.  It's  Jim  Thorpe." 

Annie's  intuition  must  have  been  something  approach- 
ing the  abnormal,  for  she  gave  Eve  no  chance  whatever 
to  reply.  She  promptly  sat  down  at  the  table,  and,  gaz- 
ing straight  into  the  stricken  woman's  face,  told  her  all 
that  her  husband  had  told  her,  and  all  that  she  had 
gleaned  for  herself,  elsewhere.  She  linked  everything 
together  in  such  a  manner  as  to  carry  absolute  convic- 
tion, showing  the  jeopardy  in  which  Jim  stood. 

Never  once  did  she  refer  to  Will,  or  hint  again  that  she 
had  discovered  Eve's  secret,  the  secret  which  Doc  Crom- 
bie  and  the  whole  of  Barnriff  would  have  given  worlds  to 
possess,  but  she  told  her  story  from  the  point  of  view  of 
Jim's  peril  as  a  suspected  cattle-thief,  and  his  apparent 
interest  in  her,  Eve,  which  the  whole  of  the  village 
women  were  beginning  so  virtuously  to  resent. 

"  An'  if  all  that  wasn't  sufficient  to  set  a  wretched  lot  o' 
scallywags  hanging  him,  along  comes  this  business  of  the 
Little  Bluff  River/' she  finished  up. 

Eve's    face  was  a  study    in  emotion  during  the  girl's 
recital.     From  terror  it  passed  to  indignation,  from  horror 
to  the  shrinking  of  outraged  wifehood.     Now  she  stam 
mered  her  request  for  Annie  to  go  on. 

"  I — I  don't  understand,"  she  declared,  "  what  has 
that ?" 

44  What's  it  got  to  do  with  it  ?  "  cried  Annie,  with  hot 


Annie  309 

anger  at  the  thought.  "  Why,  just  this.  It's  that  mean 
Stnallbones  for  sure.  It's  him  at  the  bottom  of  it. 
They're  saying  that  Jim  did  see  the  rustler,  an'  helped 
him  get  clear  away  while  he  pretended  to  be  chasin'  him. 
That's  what  the  mildest  of  'em  sez.  But  ther's  others 
swear,  an'  Smallbones  is  one  of  'em,  that  Jim  himself  was 
the  rustler,  an'  they  rec'nized  him  from  the  start.  But 
someways  he  jest  managed  to  fool  Doc,  'cause  his  horse 
was  cool,  and  didn't  show  no  signs  of  the  chase." 

The  girl's  pretty  eyes  were  wide  with  anger  at  these 
accusers.  But  her  anger  was  nothing  to  compare  with 
the  fury  which  now  stirred  Eve. 

"  Oh,  they're  wicked,  cruel  monsters  !  They  hate  him, 
and  they  only  want  to  hang  him  because  they  hate  him. 
It's — it's  nothing  to  do  with  the  cattle  stealing.  Small- 
bones  has  always  hated  Jim,  because — because  Jim's 
better  educated  and  comes  from  good  people.  Jim  a 
cattle-thief?  Jim  wouldn't  steal  a — a — blade  of  grass. 
He's  too  noble,  and  good,  and — and  honest.  Oh,  I  hate 
these  people !  I  hate  them  all — all !  " 

Annie  sat  aghast  at  the  storm  she  had  roused.  But 
her  woman's  wit  at  once  told  her  the  nature  of  the  real 
feeling  underlying  the  girl's  words.  She  had  suspected 
before,  but  now  she  understood  what,  perhaps,  Eve  her- 
self had  no  definite  understanding  of.  With  the  wreck- 
ing of  her  love  for  her  husband  it  had  been  salved  and 
safely  anchored  elsewhere.  And  Jim  was  the  man  who 
had — anchored  it. 

However,  she  wisely  refrained  from  revealing  her  dis- 
covery. She  was  delighted,  sentimentally,  foolishly  de- 
lighted, but  unhesitatingly  continued  with  the  purpose  of 
her  coming. 


310  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  agreed,  nodding  her  pretty  head 
sagely.  "  And  so  do  I.  But  we've  sure  got  to  think  of 
Jim  Thorpe.  And — and  that's  why  I  came  along.  Gay 
knows  why  I  came,  too.  You  know  how  queer  Gay  is 
'bout  some  things.  He  said  to  me, '  You  best  get  along. 
Y'see,  I  got  Jim  down  fer  buryin'  proper  when  his  time 
comes,  an*  I  don't  figger  to  get  fooled  by  any  low-down 
hanging.'  That's  what  Gay  said,  an*  I  didn't  think  it 
quite  elegant  of  him  at  the  time.  But  there,"  with  a 
sigh, "  men  are  curious  folk  'bout  things.  Still,"  she 
bustled  on  alertly,  "  we  got  to  give  him  warning.  We 
got  to  make  him  keep  away  for  a  while  anyway.  He 
hasn't  been  seen  in  the  village  since,  and  there's  folks  say 
we  ain't  likely  to  see  him  again.  I — I  almost  hope 
they're  right,  for  his  sake.  It  won't  never  do  for  him  to 
come  along — true — true  it  won't." 

The  girl's  earnestness  and  alarm  were  reflected  in  Eve's 
face.  She  saw  the  necessity,  the  emergency.  But  how — 
how  to  get  word  to  him  ?  That  was  the  difficulty. 
How  ?  Neither  of  them  knew  where  he  was,  and  cer- 
tainly none  of  the  villagers  did. 

Eve  shook  her  head  desperately. 

"  I — I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  think,"  she  said  pite- 
ously.  "  I've  done  so  much  thinking,  and — and  schem- 
ing, that  my  head  feels  silly,  and  I — I — don't  know  what 
to  suggest." 

But  Annie  was  paying  only  slight  attention.  Now  her 
round  eyes  suddenly  brightened. 

"  I've  got  it,"  she  cried.  "  There's — there's  Peter 
Blunt.  He's  sure  to  know  where  Jim  is,  or  be  able  to 
find  him.  Yes,  and  there's  your  Elia — if  Peter  fails." 

But  Eve  shook  her  head  at  the  latter' suggestion. 


Annie  311 

"  Peter,  yes.  He'll  help  us,  surely.  But  we  must  not 
think  of  Elia.  He's — he's  too — delicate." 

44  Then  it's  Peter,"  cried  Annie,  impulsively.  "  Now 
I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  I'll  find  Peter  some  time 
to-day,  and — and  tell  him  to  come  along  and  see  you 
to-night,  after  dark.  You  see,"  she  added  naively,  "  he 
best  not  be  seen  visitin'  you  in  daylight.  Then  you  can 
tell  him  all  I've  told  you,  and  he'll  sure  know  the  best  to 
do.  He  likes  Jim." 

4<  Yes,  yes/'  agreed  Eve,  brightening  visibly  and  catch- 
ing something  of  Annie's  confidence  in  her  scheme. 
44  Peter  will  help  me,  I  know.  Oh,  Annie,  you  are  a  dear, 
good  thing!  I  don't  know  how  I'd  get  through  all  this 
without  you.  But — but — you'll  be  secret,  won't  you, 
dear  ?  You  see,  I'm  quite  helpless,  and — and  you  know 
so  much." 

"  You  can  trust  me,  Eve,  you  can  trust  me  like  you 
can  trust — Jim  Thorpe.  Good-bye,  dear,  an'  keep 
bright.  I'll  come  along  after  you've  seen  Peter.  Yes, 
we've  got  to  help  Jim  out — that's  how  my  man  said, 
too.  Good-bye." 

She  hurriedly  kissed  her  friend  and  bustled  out  of  the 
house.  All  this  scheming  had  got  hold  of  her  busy 
brain,  and  she  was  eager  to  get  to  work  on  it 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

WILL 

IT  was  a  long  day  of  suspense  for  Eve.  There  was  s« 
little  to  distract  her  mind  from  the  things  which  troubled. 
A  few  household  duties,  that  was  all.  There  was  Elia's 
food  to  be  prepared  when  he  came  in  from  Peter's  new 
cutting,  just  outside  the  village  limits.  There  was  her 
dressmaking.  But  this  last  left  her  so  much  room  for 
thought,  and  only  helped  to  lengthen  the  dragging  hours. 

At  dinner-time  Elia  informed  her  that  there  were  some 
jack-rabbits  in  a  bluff  just  outside  the  village,  and  declared 
his  intention  of  snaring  them  for  her  that  night.  But  she 
paid  only  the  slightest  attention  to  him,  and  gave  him 
permission  to  go  almost  without  thinking.  Since  Will 
had  escaped  there  was  only  one  thing  of  any  conse- 
quence. It  was  Jim's  safety  from  the  angry  villagers. 

That  afternoon,  as  she  sat  over  her  work,  he  alone 
occupied  her  thoughts  and  troubled -her  to  a  degree  that 
would  have  startled  her  had  she  been  less  concerned  in 
his  danger.  She  saw  now  how  the  cowardly  part  she 
had  played  in  accepting  his  help  to  save  her  worthless 
husband  had  thrown  the  burden  of  his  crime  upon  Jim's 
willing  shoulders.  And  now  they  wanted  to  hang  him. 
She  was  to  blame  and  she  alone.  She  who  would  not 
willingly  hurt  one  hair  of  his  head. 

Hurt  him?  Oh,  no,  no !  And  yet,  how  she  had  hurt 
him  already.  She  had  never  meant  to.  It  had  been 
rushed  upon  her.  She  had  acted  upon  the  impulse  of 


Will  313 

the  moment.  And  then — then  he  had  refused  to  listen 
when  she  realized  the  meaning  of  what  she  had  done. 
Hurt  him?  No.  Now  she  felt  that  nothing  else  mat- 
tered if  only  she  could  see  a  way  to  clear  his  name. 

She  thought  long  and  hopelessly.  Then,  of  a  sudden, 
she  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  cry.  Yes,  yes,  there  was  a 
way.  They  should  not  hang  him.  She  still  had  it  in 
her  power  to  save  him.  She  still  had  it  in  her  power  to 
tell  the  whole  miserable,  pitiful  truth.  She  had  been 
a  coward,  but  she  would  be  a  coward  no  longer.  This 
was  for  Jim.  The  other  had  been  for  herself.  Yes,  she 
would  tell  the  truth.  She  would  tell  them  that  Will 
Henderson — her  husband — was  the  thief.  They  would 
believe — yes 

But  her  hope  suddenly  dropped  from  her.  Would 
they  believe  ?  She  remembered  what  Annie  had  told 
her.  She  had  been  seen  with  Jim  several  times  in  the 
village  since  he  had  left  McLagan's.  How  many  times  ? 
Once — twice Yes,  three  times  in  all.  And  al- 
ready the  women  of  the  place  had  started  scandalous 
stories.  Would  they  believe  her  ?  If  she  denounced 
Will,  what  then  ?  Their  retort  would  promptly  be  that 
she  was  trying  to  rid  herself  of  her  husband,  for — her 
own  ends.  Oh,  it  was  cruel ! 

She  flung  herself  into  her  chair,  and  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands.  She  could  do  nothing.  Nothing  but  wait 
for  help  from  others.  And  God  alone  knew  into  what 
trouble  she  might  not  plunge  them. 

But  gradually  she  became  calmer.  She  began  to  think 
in  a  different  channel.  She  was  thinking  of  these 
scandalous  tongues,  and  searching  for  an  answer  to  them. 
She  began  >to  question  her  feelings.  She  told  herself 


31 4  The  One- Way  Trail 

that  Jim  was  nothing  but  a  friend.  A  well-liked  friend. 
She  told  herself  this  several  times,  and  thought  she 
believed  it.  Why  should  it  be  otherwise  ?  She  had 
only  seen  him  three  times  since  he  came  in  from 
McLagan's.  So  why  should  it  be  otherwise  ?  No,  it 
was  not  .otherwise. 

Slowly,  as  she  thought,  and  the  hours  drifted  on,  her 
fears  fell  away  into  the  background.  Her  heart  grew 
very  tender,  and  her  denial  less  decided.  She  wondered 
where  Jim  was.  She  longed  to  go  to  him.  She  would 
have  loved  to  carry  the  warning  to  him  herself.  Some- 
how, she  wanted  to  be  at  his  side,  to  tell  him  all  she 
felt  at  the  trouble  she  had  brought  upon  him.  At  the 
wrong  she  had  so  thoughtlessly,  unintentionally  done 
him.  She  wanted  to  show  him  how  she  had  only  done 
as  her  weak  woman's  conscience  had  prompted  her. 
She  had  not  thought  beyond  what  she  believed  to  be 
her  duty.  She  had  not  paused  to  think  what  trouble 
she  was  bringing  on  others — on  him.  Had  she  only 
realized  at  the  time,  that,  with  all  her  might,  she  was 
driving  the  searing  brand  deeper  into  his  flesh,  she 
would  rather  have  faced  the  rope  herself.  She  wanted 
to  tell  him  all  this,  to  open  her  heart  to  him,  and  let  him 
see  that  she  was  not  the  cruel,  selfish  creature  he  must 
think  her  for  having  accepted  his  sacrifice  in  bearing  the 
warning  to  Will. 

The  fascination  of  her  self-abnegating  thought  held 
her,  and  she  drifted  on  to  more  personal  details.  She 
pictured  his  kind  eyes,  and  heard  his  deep,  gentle  voice 
telling  her  that  he  forgave  her,  that  he  preferred  to  carry 
the  warning  rather  than  she  should  suffer.  She  felt  in 
her  heart  that  this  was  what  he  would  say,  for  she 


Will  315 

knew,  as  most  women  know  these  things,  that  the  old 
love  of  a  year  ago  was  still  as  it  was  then.  And  the 
thought  of  it  was  sweet  and  comforting  now  in  her 
trouble. 

She  remained  in  her  wondrously  seductive  dreamland 
while  the  minutes  crept  on.  And,  as  the  dusky  shadows 
of  evening  gathered,  she  sat  silent  in  her  woman's  dream 
of  the  man.  It  was  gentle,  soothing,  irresistible.  It 
was  the  natural  reaction  after  long  hours  of  mental  strug- 
gle, when  a  merciful  Providence  brings  relief  to  the 
suffering  mind,  the  saving  sedative  of  a  few  restful  mo- 
ments in  the  realms  of  a  gentle  dreaming  of  subcon- 
sciousness. 

But  perhaps  this  respite  was  something  in  the  nature 
of  an  inversion  of  the  tempering  of  the  wind.  Perhaps 
a  strange  Providence  was  giving  her  a  few  moments  in 
which  to  strengthen  herself  for  the  blow  that  was  to 
follow  so  quickly.  It  is  of  small  consequence,  however. 
These  things  pass  in  a  lifetime  almost  unobserved.  It  is 
only  on  subsequent  reflection  that  they  become  ap- 
parent. 

The  darkness  had  closed  down,  and  for  once  the 
usually  brilliant  summer  evening  was  clouded,  and  the 
twilight  quickly  lost.  The  woman's  introspective  gaze 
was  smiling,  the  drawn  lines  about  her  pretty  mouth, 
the  shadows  under  her  eyes  seemed  to  have  fallen  from 
her.  It  almost  seemed  as  though  the  happiness  of  her 
dreams  had  entirely  banished  the  trouble  that  had  so 
long  weighed  her  down. 

Then  suddenly  the  latch  of  her  door  lifted  with  a 
rattle.  She  started  at  once  into  perfect  consciousness 
At  last.  It  was  Peter  Blunt  come  with  his  ready  help 


316  The  One- Way  Trail 

She  started  to  her  feet,  all  her  dream-castles  tumbling 
about  her.  The  door  was  pushed  roughly  open,  and 
Will,  her  husband,  came  hurriedly  in. 

"  You  ?  " 

Eve's  exclamation  was  the  last  thing  in  horror,  the 
last  thing  in  unconscious  detestation.  But  his  eyes  held 
hers  as  one  fascinated  by  the  eyes  of  some  cruel  reptile. 
Nor  was  it  until  he  nodded  his  reply  that  the  spell  was 
broken. 

"  Yes — and  I  guess  you  ain't  too  pleased." 

There  was  a  harsh  sarcasm  in  his  tone,  which  added  to 
the  steely  horror  in  the  woman's  heart.  Now  her  eyes 
glanced  swiftly  over  his  body.  He  was  dressed  differ- 
ently to  anything  she  had  ever  seen  him  in.  He  was 
wearing  a  suit  of  store  clothes,  and  a  soft  cotton  shirt 
with  a  collar.  His  whole  appearance  suggested  the  Sun- 
day costume  of  any  of  the  villagers,  which  they  gen- 
erally wore  when  setting  out  on  a  visit  to  a  town  of 
some  importance.  Just  for  a  moment  she  wondered  if 
this  was  Will's  intention.  Was  he  about  to  make  a  bolt 
out  of  the  country? 

He  shut  the  door  carefully,  and  glanced  round  the 
darkened  room.  There  was  just  sufficient  glow  from  the 
stove  to  tell  him  there  was  no  one  else  in  the  place. 

"  Where's  Elia  ?     Are  you  alone  ?  " 

His  tone  was  peremptory  and  suspicious.  His  furtive 
eyes  told  Eve  that  he  was  apprehensive.  She  nodded. 

"  Elia's  gone  snaring  jack-rabbits  on  the  bluff,  out 
back,"  she  said  unsuspiciously.  "  Shall  I  light  a  lamp?' 

"  No."      His  negative  came  emphatically. 

He  came  round  to  the  stove,  and  stood  looking  down 
at  her  for  some  moments.  There  was  a  dark,  sullen  frown 


Will  317 

in  his  eyes  which  might  well  have  suggested  possibilities 
to  the  most  unsuspicious.  But  she  was  not  suspicious, 
just  then.  She  was  wondering  and  fearful  that  he  had  re- 
turned to  the  village  instead  of  getting  away.  Why  had 
he  come  ?  she  asked  herself.  But  her  question  found  no 
voice. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said  at  last,  with  such  a  sneer  that  she 
lifted  a  pair  of  startled  eyes  to  his  face.  Her  heart  was 
hammering  in  her  bosom.  She  had  suddenly  realized  his 
temper. 

"  I'm  goingaway,"  he  said  sharply.  "  I've  got  to  get  out. 
I  came  in  for  money.  Have  you  got  any  of  my  money  ?  " 

"  All  of  it." 

"Ah,  good.  You're  more  use  than  I  thought  you. 
How  much?  " 

"  Over  a  thousand  dollars." 

Eve's  voice  was  icy.  Her  whole  attitude  seemed  almost 
m«chanical.  Yet  a  wild  terror  was  slowly  creeping  over 
her,  mounting  steadily  to  her  brain.  Nor  was  the  reason 
for  it  quite  Apparent  yet. 

The  man's  eyes  sparkled,  and  for  a  moment  his  frown 
lightened. 

"  Good.  You  can  hand  it  over."  And  his  voice  was 
almost  friendly. 

Eve  went  into  her  bedroom  and  returned  with  a  pile  of 
bills.  Will  held  out  his  hand  for  them,  but  she  ignored  it, 
and  laid  them  on  the  table.  He  seized  upon  them 
greedily,  glancing  queerly  at  her  as  he  pocketed  them. 

"  Good,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  now  I  can  get  busy." 
He  lifted  his  eyes  to  his  wife's  face  again,  and  stared  at 
her  malevolently,  and  the  woman  shivered  under  his 
scrutiny.  She  had  shrunk  from  coming  into  contact  with 


318  The  One- Way  Trail 

the  hand  that  had  shot  down  one  of  the  boys,  and  now 
she  was  thinking  of  this  man  as  the  murderer. 

"  You  best  go,"  she  said,  vainly  trying  to  keep  her 
voice  steady. 

But  the  man  made  no  move.  His  malevolent  stare  had 
become  more  intense.  Suddenly  he  laughed,  his  teeth 
baring,  but  his  eyes  remaining  unchanged. 

"  So  that's  it,  eh  ?  "  he  said.  Then  the  malevolence  of 
his  eyes  changed  to  an  angry  fire.  "  I'm  going  sure,  but 
not  till  I've  done  what  I  came  to  do.  Y'see,  there's  no 
great  hurry.  Folks  aren't  chasin'  me  here.  Here,  I'm  a 
respectable,  hard-working  gold  prospector.  An'  I've 
been  down  at  the  saloon  an'  talked  with  the  folks.  Bluff, 
eh  ?  Gold  prospector.  Gee  !  We  know  differently,  eh  ? 
Don't  we?  Oh,  yes,  I'm  goin' — when  it  suits  me.  Not 
when  it  suits  you.  Guess  you'd  be  glad  to  be  rid  of 
me,  eh  ?  So  it  would  leave  room  for  Jim  Thorpe.  Oh, 
I've  heard.  All  the  folks  are  talking." 

The  girl  started.  An  angry  flush  slowly  mounted  to 
her  cheeks,  and  a  sudden  sparkle  lit  her  eyes. 

"  But  he  don't  cut  any  ice  with  me,"  the  man  went  on 
with  a  laugh.  "  You  won't  get  him.  Nor  will  any  other 
woman.  They're  goin'  to  hang  him.  Say,  what  was  his 
price  for  riding  out  to  me  ?  Did  you  pay  it  beforehand, 
or  do  you  reckon  to  pay  it  before  they  hang  him  ? 
Ha,  ha !  guess  you  ain't  paid  it  yet.  Men  don't  work 
for  women  after  they  get  their  pay.  I'd  say  you're 
shrewd  enough  someways." 

Eve's  fury  at  the  man's  loathsome  suggestion  drove 
her  beyond  all  caution.  And  she  rmng  her  answer  at 
him  with  a  hatred  that  was  wholly  infuriating  to  the  man. 

"  You  best  go.     Remember,  I  know  the  truth  of  you," 


Will  319 

she  cried.  "  We've  saved  you  from  the  rope,  once.  I  still 
have  it  in  my  power  to 

«  Eh  ?  " 

He  stepped  up  to  her  and  stood,  his  face  within  a  few 
inches  of  hers. 

"  So  that's  it,  is  it  ?  You'd  give  me  away.  You ! " 
He  shook  his  head  slowly,  all  his  purpose  plainly  written 
in  his  furious  eyes.  "  You  won't  give  me  away.  I'll  see 
to  that.  For  two  pins  I'd  silence  you  now,  only — only  it 
isn't  what  I  want.  But  don't  make  a  mistake,  you  won't 
give  me  away.  Sit  down.  Sit  down  right  there  in  the 
chair  behind  you." 

He  stood  over  her,  compelling  her  with  the  force  be- 
hind his  command,  and  the  terrified  woman  found  herself 
obeying  him  against  her  will.  She  almost  fell  into  the 
chair.  Then  the  man  turned  back  to  the  door  and  se- 
cured it. 

"  We  don't  want  any  one  buttin'  in,"  he  said.  "  I've 
got  to  do  a  big  talk  first,  then  I  get  goin'." 

He  came  back  and  stood  beside  the  stove,  opposite 
her,  so  that  he  could  look  right  down  into  her  face  and 
watch  the  effect  of  his  words.  He  was  brimful  of  a 
merciless  project,  which  was  to  be  carried  out  partly  for 
her  edification,  partly  for  his  own  revenge,  and  wholly 
for  the  satisfaction  of  the  devilish  nature  within  him, 
which  now,  let  fully  loose,  swayed  him  beyond  any 
thought  of  consequences. 

"  See  here,  you've  been  my  Jonah  right  along.  I 
never  had  a  cent's  worth  of  luck  since  I  got  scratching 
around  your  fence,"  he  began,  almost  quietly.  Only  was 
the  threat  in  his  eyes.  "  I  don't  guess  I  can  say  just  how 
things  happened — I  mean  how  things  got  going  wrong 


320  The  One- Way  Trail 

with  me,  unless  it  was  you.  I'm  going  to  tell  you 
straight  when  it  happened.  I  got  mean  when  I  was  fool 
enough  to  guess  I  was  sweet  on  you.  Jim  Thorpe  was 
sweet  on  you  too.  I  got  mean  toward  him.  We  shot  a 
target  for  first  chance  to  ask  you  to  marry.  He  won.  I 
got  in  ahead,  and,  like  a  fool,  married  you.  That  was 
the  beginning.  An'  I  didn't  feel  any  less  mean  after. 
Yes,  you  were  my  Jonah,  sure.  I  couldn't  work  those 
first  days  'cos  of  you,  an'  after  I  didn't  guess  I  wanted  to. 
But  it  set  me  savage  I  didn't  want  to.  Well,  I'm  not 
here  to  tell  you  all  the  things  that  followed.  You  know 
them  as  well  as  me.  But  there's  things  you  don't  know. 
After  you  got  hurt  that  night  it  was  Peter  Blunt  who 
drove  me  out  of  Barnriff  with  threats  of  kicking  me  out,  and 
setting  (the  townsfolk  on  me  for  the  way  I'd  treated  you. 
But  Jim  was  behind  it.  He  didn't  do  the  talkin'  to  me — 
Peter  did  that.  But  Jim  came  in  that  night  to  see  you. 
I  found  that  out.  Say,  I  was  mad.  I  was  mad  at  Jim 
Thorpe,  and  not  Peter,  for  I  read  his  doing  in  my  own 
way.  Y'see  I  was  still  a  fool,  an'  still  sweet  on  you.  But 
I  saw  how  I  could  get  back  on  him.  I'd  been  at  work 
some  time  on  the  cattle-duffing,  an'  I  saw  just  how  I 
could  hurt  him  too. 

"  Say,  cattle-duffing's  a  great  gambol,  an'  I  don't  regret 
it.  I'm  going  to  keep  on  at  it — only  elsewhere.  Well, 
I  got  hold  of  Master  Jim's  brand.  I  got  kit  as  like  he 
wears  as  two  cents,  in  case  I  was  located.  We're  alike 

in  figure " 

"  But,  thank  God,  there's  no  other  resemblance." 
Eve's  scathing  comment  came  with  startling  sudden- 
ness.    Her  terror  was  passing,  and  only  she  felt  a  great 
loathing  for  this  man. 


Will  321 

"Keep  all  that  till  I've  finished,"  Will  said  coolly. 
•'*  Maybe  you  won't  be  so  ready  then.  Well,  I  used  his 
brand,  and  set  a  bunch  of  cattle  running  amongst  his — 
McLagan's  cattle,  as  you  know.  Then  I  waited  for  de- 
velopments. They  came — oh,  yes,  they  came.  Jim  was 
the  cattle-thief.  I  the  lucky  gold  prospector.  Good, 
eh  ?  "  He  laughed  heartily. 

44  But,  say,  I  was  still  a  fool,"  he  went  on,  after  a  slight 
pause.  "  I  was  still  sweet  on  you.  Then  I  heard  every 
time  Jim  came  into  the  village  he'd  always  call  to  see 
you.  That  set  me  mad — so  mad  you  came  mighty  near 
to  passing  in  your  checks,  and  Jim  too.  I'm  glad  those 
things  didn't  happen  now.  Y'see,  I  didn't  reckon  on 
Elia.  I'd  forgotten  him.  That  imp  of  hell  can  hate, 
and  it  was  me  he  hated,  eh  ?  Y'see,  I've  heard  how  he 
tracked  me.  I  hear  most  things  doing  in  Barnriff.  Then 
you  did  your  fool  stunt  sending  Jim  out  to  warn  me. 
He  got  me  clear,  and — and  I  hate  him  worse  for  it ;  but 
not  so  bad  as  I  hate  you  now.  I  see  how  it  was  done. 
I'm  no  fool.  Jim  did  it  for  you,  and  I  guess  you'll  pay 
his  price.  That's  how  you're  both  thinking.  But  you 
won't  They're  goin'  to  hang  him.  There's  only  one 
person  who  can  put  them  wise  about  this  cattle  stealing, 
that's  Elia.  And  I'm  going  to  kill  him  to-night.  That's 
why  I  came  in — that  an'  to  get  money.  When  I've 
finished  him  I'll  see  to  you 

But  Eve  was  on  her  feet  in  a  frenzy  of  horror  and  fear 
for  the  brother  she  loved.  All  her  mother's  instinct  was 
roused  to  a  fighting  pitch. 

"  You  shan't  touch  him  ! "  she  cried  fiercely.  "  You 
shall  kill  me  first !  I  swear  it !  Oh,  you  wretched  mur- 
derer 1  You  filth  !  Ha,  ha — nobody  but  Elia  knows. 


322  The  One-Way  Trail 

Peter  knows,  and — and  others»     You  touch  Ella,  and  1 
swear  you  shan't  escape  !  " 

"  Peter  knows,  eh  ?  Ho,  ho,  my  girl,"  the  man  mocked 
Then  he  shook  his  head.  "  It  doesn't  matter — not  a  little 
bit.  What  I'm  going  to  do  will  be  done  to-night.  Elia 
will  get  his  med'cine,  and  then  I'll  come  back,  and — well., 
you  shan't  get  a  chance  of  paying  Jim  his  price.  Oh, 
no,"  as  Eve  opened  her  lips  to  speak  again,  "  I'll  take  no 
chances.  I'll  leave  you  safe  here.  I  could  settle  you 
first,  but  I  want  you  to  know  your  beloved  brother  is 
dead  before — you  join  him.  Get  my  meaning?  You 
see,  Peter  and  those  others  knowing  have  altered  my 
plans  some.  You'll  join  your  angel  brother  when  I  come 
back." 

He  had  been  bending  over  her,  to  impress  his  cruel 
words  upon  her  more  forcibly.  Now  he  suddenly 
straightened  up  and  snatched  some  dress  material  from 
the  table.  Before  the  wretched  woman  was  aware  of  his 
intentions  he  had  flung  it  over  her  head.  She  tried  to 
scream,  but  instantly  he  had  her  by  the  throat  with  one 
hand  and  choked  her  cries  back.  With  the  other  he 
thrust  the  cloth  into  her  mouth  till  she  was  effectually 
gagged.  Then  he  secured  it  in  place  with  a  long  bind- 
ing of  braid.  But  the  moment  this  was  done,  and  he 
released  her  throat,  she  began  to  struggle  violently,  and 
he  was  forced  to  exert  all  his  strength  to  crush  her  down 
into  the  chair.  Here  he  knelt  on  her,  while  he  lashed 
her  hands  together,  and  then  her  feet.  Then  he  tied  the 
two  bindings  together,  so  that  her  arms  were  locked  im 
movable  round  her  knees.  Now,  at  his  leisure,  he  took 
the  table  cover  and  securely  bound  her  into  the  chair. 

This    accomplished,  he   stood    up   and   surveyed    his 


Will  323 

handiwork  carefully.  He  was  breathing  hard  with  his 
exertion.  Yes,  she  was  well  secured,  and  he  smiled  sar- 
donically. He  watched  her  thus  for  some  moments. 
Then  he  glanced  round  the  darkened  room.  It  was 
the  haunted  look  of  the  man  engaged  in  crime. 

Suddenly  he  stepped  softly  to  her  side,  and,  stooping, 
lifted  the  cloth  with  which  she  was  gagged  from  before 
the  upper  part  of  her  face.  He  looked  into  the  hunted, 
terrified  eyes  and  grinned.  Then  he  put  his  lips  close  to 
one  of  her  ears. 

"  Now  I'm  going  to  the  bluff  out  back  to — kill  your 
brother,  your  beloved  Elia.  Then  I'm  coming  back  to — 
kill  you,"  he  whispered.  And  the  next  moment  he  was 
gone. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

JIM 

IT  was  with  no  very  cheerful  feelings  that  Jim  Thorpe 
approached  Barnriff  once  more.  He  had  delayed  his  re- 
turn as  long  as  possible,  not  from  any  fear  for  himself, 
but  for  the  sake  of  giving  color  to  his  final  protestations 
to  Doc  Crombie,  when  they  parted  company  at  the  Little 
Bluff  River. 

After  resting  his  horse  in  the  river  woods  for  a  full 
twenty-four  hours — and,  in  that  time,  the  tough  beast  had 
fully  recovered  from  his  journey— he  then,  with  simple 
strategy,  hunted  up  Will's  tracks  where  the  fugitive  had 
left  the  river,  and  steadily  trailed  him  to  the  northern 
hills.  There  he  gave  up  further  pursuit,  having  fully 
satisfied  himself  that  the  man's  escape  had  been  accom- 
plished. So  he  turned  his  horse's  head  toward  Barnriff, 
and  prepared  himself  to  face  the  trouble  that  he  knew 
would  be  awaiting  him. 

It  was  a  cheerless  journey,  harassed  by  thoughts  and 
speculations  that  could  be  hardly  considered  illuminating. 
Curiously  enough  he  had  no  thought  of  making  a  run  for 
it  to  a  district  where  he  was  still  unknown.  Why  should 
he  ?  There  was  not  a  guilty  thought  in  his  mind,  unless 
it  were  the  recollection  of  the  trick  he  had  played  on  the 
lynching  party  to  save  Will  from  the  rope. 

No,  his  set  purpose  was  to  return  to  Barnriff  and  fight 
the  public  feeling  he  knew  there  was  against  him,  and  to 
live  it  down.  Besides,  there  was  Eve.  Who  could  tell, 
with  such  a  husband  as  Will,  when  she  might  not  need 


Jim  325 

the  help  of  a  strong,  willing  arm  ?  His  love  for  her  was 
stronger  than  his  discretion,  it  was  more  powerful  than 
any  selfish  consideration. 

He  had  but  one  real  friend  in  Barnriffthat  he  knew  of. 
There  were  several,  he  believed,  who,  at  a  crisis,  would 
vote  in  his  favor,  but  that  was  all.  Peter  Blunt  he  knew 
he  could  rely  on  to  the  last.  And,  somehow,  this  man, 
to  his  mind,  was  an  even  more  powerful  factor  than  Doc 
Crombie.  It  was  not  that  Peter  held  any  great  appeal 
with  the  people,  but  somehow  there  was  a  reserve  of 
mental  strength  in  the  man  that  lifted  him  far  above  his 
fellows,  in  his  capacity  to  do  in  emergency.  He  felt 
that,  with  the  great  shadow  of  Peter  standing  by,  he  had 
little  to  fear  from  such  jackals  as  Smallbones. 

Yet  the  outlook  was  depressing  enough  as  he  drew 
near  his  destination.  He  no  longer  had  the  possibility 
of  clearing  his  name.  That  was  past.  A  hope  aban- 
doned with  many  others  in  his  short  life.  All  thought 
of  establishing  his  innocence  must  be  wiped  out  forever. 
He  had  enlisted  himself  in  Eve's  service  for  good  or  evil, 
and  the  only  thing  remaining  to  him  was,  by  facing  the 
yelping  of  the  Barnriff  pack,  with  a  dogged,  defiant  front, 
to  attempt  to  live  down  his  disgrace.  In  this,  to  his 
simple  mind,  there  was  one  great  thing  in  his  favor. 
The  cattle  stealing  was  at  an  end.  There  would  be  no 
further  depredations.  And  this  alone  would  be  of  in- 
calculable help  to  him.  He  knew  the  cattle  world  well 
enough  to  understand  that  the  ethics  of  the  case  were 
not  of  paramount  importance  with  these  people.  It  was 
the  loss  of  stock  which  rankled.  It  was  the  definite, 
material  loss  and  injury  to  the  commerce  of  the  district 

But  to  a  man  of  his  honor  and  love  of  fair  play  the 


326  The  One- Way  Trail 

position  was  desperately  hard.  Fate  was  driving  him  at 
a  pace  that  threatened  to  wreck  in  no  uncertain  manner. 
The  downward  path  looked  so  easy — was  so  easy. 
Lately  he  had  frequently  found  himself  wondering  why 
he  didn't  go  with  the  tide  and  head  straight  for  the 
vortex  that  he  felt  would  be  only  too  ready  to  engulf 
him.  He  had  been  so  near  it  once.  That  moment  was 
indelibly  fixed  on  his  memory.  He  doubted  that  but  for 
Peter  Blunt  he  would  never  have  resisted  the  temptation. 
He  knew  himself,  he  was  honest  with  himself.  That  day 
when  he  first  discovered  Will's  treachery  Peter  had  saved 
him. 

Now  everything  seemed  somehow  different.  His 
thoughts  were  frequently  desperate  enough,  but,  whereas 
a  year  ago  he  would  have  cried  out  against  Heaven, 
against  everything  in  Heaven  or  on  earth,  now  he  wanted 
to  set  his  back  to  the  wall  and  fight.  He  felt  it  in  him 
to  fight,  let  the  odds  be  what  they  might.  And  he  knew 
that  he  owed  this  new  spirit  to  the  big-hearted  Peter, 
who  had  once  shown  him  how  wrong  he  was. 

But  though  less  acknowledged,  there  was  another  in- 
fluence at  work  within  him.  Eve  was  there  alone,  far 
more  alone  than  if  she  had  never  married  Will.  He 
only  guessed  what  her  feelings  must  be,  for  she  was  still 
in  doubt  as  to  Will's  safety.  Yes,  he  would  at  least  have 
the  privilege  of  carrying  her  the  glad  tidings. 

He  laughed  bitterly.  He  could  not  help  it.  Yes,  she 
would  be  the  happier  for  his  tidings,  and  with  that  he 
must  be  content.  Now,  no  one  would  ever  know.  Her 
disgrace  would  be  hidden,  and  she  would  be  able  to  live 
on  quietly  in  the  village  with  her  young  brother  until 
such  time  as  she  felt  it  safe  to  join  her  husband. 


Jim  327 

Try  as  he  would  to  appreciate  the  comparative  happi- 
ness he  was  conveying  to  the  woman,  he  felt  the  sharp 
pricks  of  the  thorny  burden  he  was  bearing.  He  smiled 
in  the  growing  darkness,  and  told  himself  that  there  was 
no  disaster  that  brought  happiness  to  any  one  but  must 
be  counted  as  a  good  work. 

He  could  see  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  village  less 
than  half  a  mile  ahead,  and  he  glanced  over  them  care- 
fully. There  was  the  saloon.  Who  could  mistake  it, 
with  its  flamboyant  brilliance  against  the  lesser  twinkle 
of  the  smaller  houses  ?  His  eyes  searched  for  the  lights 
of  Eve's  home.  He  could  not  see  them.  Possibly  she 
was  in  her  kitchen,  that  snug  little  room,  where,  up  to  a 
year  ago,  he  had  many  a  time  taken  tea  with  her.  Yes, 
it  would  be  about  her  supper-time.  He  looked  back  at 
the  western  sky  to  verify  the  hour.  The  last  faint  sheen 
of  sunset  was  slipping  away  into  the  soft  velvet  of  night. 

He  thought  for  a  moment  as  to  his  best  course. 
Should  he  wait  until  morning  to  bear  his  tidings  to  her? 
No,  that  would  leave  her  unnecessary  time  for  worry  and 
anxiety.  Best  go  to  her  to-night — at  once. 

He  shook  up  his  horse  into  a  better  gait.  It  were  best 
to  hurry.  He  did  not  want  to  be  seen  visiting  her  late 
in  the  evening.  He  knew  the  scandalous  tongues  of  the 
village  only  too  well. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  was  nearing  the  saloon.  He  would 
pass  within  fifty  yards  of  it.  As  he  came  abreast  of  it  he 
turned  his  head  curiously  in  its  direction.  There  was  a 
great  din  of  voices  coming  from  its  frowzy  interior,  and 
he  wondered.  The  men  seemed  to  have  begun  their 
nightly  orgie  early.  Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  per- 
haps Crombie's  men  had  returned,  and  were  out  to  make 


328  The  One-Way  Trail 

a  night  of  it.  He  smiled  to  himself.  They  would  wed 
a  good  deal  of  drink  to  wash  out  the  taste  of  the  bitter 
pill  of  Will's  escape. 

Had  he  but  known  it,  the  occasion  was  a  meeting  of 
the  townsmen  to  decide  his  fate.  Had  he  but  known  it, 
Peter  Blunt  was  there  watching  his  interests  and  ready  to 
fight  with  both  brains  and  muscle  on  his  behalf.  But 
then,  had  he  known  it,  it  might  have  altered  the  whole 
complexion  of  the  events  which  happened  in  BarnrifF  that 
night. 

He  did  not  know  it,  so  he  rode  straight  on  to  Eve's 
house.  Nor  did  it  occur  to  him  as  strange,  at  that  hour 
in  the  evening,  that  he  did  not  encounter  a  single  soul  oa 
his  way. 

Arrived  at  her  gate  he  dismounted  and  off-saddled.  He 
would  not  need  his  horse  again  that  night,  so  he  turned 
the  animal  loose  to  graze  at  its  leisure.  It  would  find  its 
way  to  the  water  when  it  wanted  to,  and  when  he  had 
seen  Eve  he  would  carry  his  saddle  back  to  Peter's  hut, 
where  he  was  going  to  sleep. 

Just  for  a  moment  he  paused  before  opening  the  gate. 
The  house  was  still  in  darkness.  He  had  half  a  mind  to 
go  round  the  back  and  see  if  there  were  lights  in  the 
kitchen.  But  it  seemed  like  spying  to  him,  and  so  he 
refrained. 

But  somehow  the  place  suggested  that  there  was  no 
one  within,  and  eventually  he  started  up  the  path  with  a 
feeling  of  keen  disappointment.  At  the  door  he  paused 
and  felt  for  the  latch.  Then,  just  as  his  hand  came  into 
contact  with  it,  and  he  was  about  to  lift  it,  he  started, 
and,  motionless,  stood  listening. 

What   was   that  ?     He   thought  he   heard  a  peculiar 


Jim  329 

moaning  beyond  the  door.  No,  he  was  mistaken.  There 

was  no  sound  now.  At  least Ah,  there  it  was 

again.  He  pressed  one  ear  against  the  door  and  im- 
mediately started  back.  He  had  not  been  mistaken. 

He  no  longer  hesitated,  but,  lifting  the  latch  noisily, 
pressed  against  the  door.  It  was  fast.  And  now  the 
moaning  suddenly  became  louder.  Without  a  thought, 
without  a  scruple,  he  promptly  thrust  his  toe  against  the 
foot  of  the  door  and  pressed  heavily.  Then,  lifting  the 
latch,  he  threw  all  the  weight  of  his  powerful  shoulder 
against  the  lock.  The  door  gave  before  him,  nearly  pre- 
cipitating him  headlong  into  the  room. 

He  managed  to  save  himself  and  stepped  hurriedly 
within.  Then  he  again  stood  listening.  The  room  was 
quite  dark,  but  now  he  had  no  difficulty  in  placing  the 
moaning.  It  came  from  just  across  the  room  beside 
Eve's  stove. 

"  Eve,"  he  called  softly.  "  Eve ! "  But  as  no  answer 
came  a  great  fear  gripped  his  heart.  Was  this  a  repe- 
tition of No,  Will  was  away  out  in  the  mountains. 

Now  the  moaning  was  louder,  and  there  was  a  distinct 
rustling  whence  the  sound  came.  He  fumbled  a  match 
from  his  pocket  and  struck  it.  One  glance  toward  the 
stove  set  him  rushing  across  to  the  parlor  lamp. 

He  lit  the  lamp  and  hurried  back  to  the  chair  beside 
the  stove.  He  needed  but  one  glance  to  realize  Eve's 
condition,  and  his  heart  was  filled  with  a  great  rage. 
Who  ?  Who  had  done  this  thing  ?  was  the  question  that 
ran  through  his  mind  as  he  set  to  work  to  undo  the  cruel 
bonds  that  held  her  to  her  chair. 

It  was  the  work  of  a  few  moments  to  remove  the  gag 
that  was  nearly  choking  her.  Then  the  knots  about  her 


330  The  One- Way  Trail 

wrists  and  feet  were  swiftly  undone.  Released  at  last, 
Eve  sank  back  in  a  semi-fainting  condition,  and  Jim 
looked  on  helplessly.  And  in  those  moments  he  made  up 
his  mind  that  some  one  was  going  to  pay  dearly  for  this. 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  no  time  must  be  lost,  so 
he  hurried  into  the  kitchen  and  came  back  with  a  dipper 
of  drinking  water.  He  held  it  to  the  girl's  lips,  and  after 
.she  had  drunk  he  soaked  his  handkerchief  in  what  re- 
mained, and  bathed  her  forehead  and  temples  with  a 
wonderful  tenderness  and  silent  sympathy. 

But  suddenly  Eve  opened  her  eyes.  And  at  once  he 
saw  that  her  weakness  had  passed.  The  horror  of  recol- 
lection was  alive  once  more  within  her,  and  her  terrified 
eyes  sought  his.  When  she  saw  who  he  was  she  sprang 
to  her  feet  with  a  great  cry. 

"  Jim  !  "  she  cried.  And,  staggering  in  her  weakness, 
she  would  have  fallen. 

He  caught  her  just  in  time,  and  gently  returned  her 
to  her  seat.  But  with  a  great  effort  she  overcame  her 
faintness. 

"  For  God's  sake,  save  him ! "  she  cried  wildly.  "  Oh, 
Jim,  he's  gone  to  kill  him  !  Save  him  for  me !  Only 
save  him ! " 

The  position  was  difficult.  Jim's  heart  bled  for  the 
distraught  woman.  But  he  realized  that  he  must  calm 
her  at  once,  or  she  would  break  out  into  shrieking  hys- 
terics. 

"  Be  calm,  Eve,"  he  said  almost  roughly.  "  How  can 
I  understand  when  you  talk  like  that  ?  Don't  let's  have 
any  foolishness.  Now  quietly.  Who's  gone  to  kill — 
who?" 

His  manner  had  its  effect.     Eve  choked  back  her  rising 


Jim  331 

emotion  with  an  effort,  and  her  eyes  lost  some  of  their 
straining. 

"  It's  Will,"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  deliberate  measur- 
ing of  her  words.  "  He's  gone  to  kill  Elia.  Out  there, 
back  at  the  bluff.  It's  for  setting  the  men  after  him. 
And — then,  and  then  he's  coming  back " 

Jim  was  staggered.  He  looked  at  the  woman  wonder- 
ing if  she  had  suddenly  lost  her  senses. 

"  And  I  came  back  to  tell  you  he'd  got  clear  away. 
By  Heaven  !  And  he  did  this  ? "  He  indicated  the 
bonds  he  had  just  removed,  and  his  eyes  darkened  with 
sudden  fury. 

The  woman  nodded.  She  was  holding  herself  with  all 
her  might. 

"  Yes,  but — that's  nothing."  Suddenly  she  let  herself 
go.  All  the  old  terror  surged  uppermost  again.  "  But 
don't  wait !  Jim,  save  him  for  my  sake  !  Save  him  for 
me !  Oh,  my  poor,  helpless  brother !  Jim — Jim,  you 
are  the  only  one  I  can  look  to.  Oh,  save  him !  He's 
all  I  have — all  I  have." 

It  was  a  dreadful  moment  for  the  man.  The  woman 
he  loved  half  dead  with  terror  and  the  cruel  handling 
dealt  her  by  her  husband.  Now  she  was  appealing  to  him 
as  the  only  man  in  the  world  she  could  appeal  to.  His  love 
rushed  to  his  head  and  came  near  to  driving  him  to  the 
one  thing  in  the  world  he  knew  he  must  not  do.  He 
longed  to  crush  her  in  his  strong  arms,  and  proclaim  his 
right  to  protect  her  against  the  world.  He  loved  her  so 
that  he  wanted  to  defy  everybody,  all  the  world,  that  he 
might  claim  her  for  his  own.  But  she  was  not  his.  And 
he  almost  spoke  the  words  aloud  to  convince  himself  and 
drive  back  the  demon  surging  through  his  blood. 


332  The  One-Way  Trail 

"  Where  did  you  say  he  was  ?  "  he  demanded,  almost 
savagely  in  his  tremendous  self-repression. 

"  At  the  bluff,  out  back.  Hurry,  hurry,  for — God's 
sake !  " 

That  was  better.  The  less  personal  appeal  helped  him 
to  calm  himself. 

*  How  long's  he  been  gone  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  his  eyes 
from  her  terror-stricken  face  to  help  himself  regain  his 
own  control. 

"  About  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  or  even  a  half,"  she  cried. 

"  It's  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  isn't  it  ?  " 

41  More.     Nearly  a  mile." 

41  Right.  You  stay  here. "  He  threw  a  pistol  on  the 
table.  "  Keep  that  to  protect  yourself,"  he  added, 
brusquely.  "  And — Eve,  if  I  get  there  in  time,  I'll  save 
your  brother.  If  I  don't,  your  husband  shall  die,  as  sure 
as " 

But  his  sentence  remained  unfinished.  He  rushed  out 
of  the  house  and  sought  his  horse.  The  animal  was  still 
grazing  near  by.  He  slipped  the  bit  into  its  mouth. 
Then  he  sprang  on  to  its  bare  back  and  galloped  off. 

And  as  he  rushed  out  Eve  fell  back  into  a  chair  laugh- 
ing and  crying  at  the  same  time. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

WILL  HENDERSON  REACHES  THE  END 

WILL  HENDERSON  stalked  his  prey  with  a  caution,  a 
deliberateness,  as  though  he  were  dealing  with  a  grown 
man,  a  man  who  could  resist,  one  whose  power  to  retali- 
ate was  as  great  as  was  his  to  attack.  But  nothing  of  this 
was  in  his  thoughts.  It  was  the  fell  intent  to  murder 
that  now  cast  its  furtive,  suspicious,  even  apprehensive 
spell  over  his  mind,  and  so  influenced  his  actions. 

As  Elia  at  one  time  had  trailed  him,  so  he  was  now 
tracking  Eiia.  From  bush  to  bush  and  shadow  to  shadow 
he  searched  the  bluff  for  the  hunter  of  jack-rabbits.  But 
the  bluff  was  extensive,  the  night  dark,  and  the  move- 
ments of  the  snarer  as  silent  as  those  of  the  man  hunting 
him.  There  was  black  murder  in  Will's  heart,  the  cruel 
purpose  of  a  mind  turned  suddenly  malignant  with  a  de- 
sire for  adequate  revenge.  His  was  nothing  of  the  fiery 
rage  which  drives  a  man  spontaneously.  He  meant  to 
kill  his  victim  after  he  had  satisfied  his  lust  for  torture, 
and  no  one  knew  better  than  he  how  easy  his  task  was, 
and  how  cruelly  he  could  torture  this  brother  of  Eve. 

The  starlit  night  yielded  up  the  bluff  a  wide  black  patch 
amidst  a  shadowed  world.  There  was  no  moon,  but  the 
wealth  of  stars  shed  a  faint  glimmer  of  soft  light  on  the 
surrounding  plains.  The  conditions  could  not  have  been 
more  favorable  for  his  purpose,  and  they  gave  him  a 
fiendish  satisfaction. 


334  The  One-Way  Trail 

He  had  skirted  the  bluff  all  round.  He  had  passed 
through  its  length.  And  still  no  sign  of  his  quarry. 
Twice  he  started  up  a  jack-rabbit,  but  the  snarer  did  not 
seem  to  be  in  the  vicinity.  Now,  with  much  care  and 
calculation,  he  began  to  traverse  the  breadth  of  the  bush  in 
a  zigzag  fashion  which  was  to  continue  its  whole  length. 
His  old  trapping  instincts  served  him,  and  none  but 
perhaps  an  Indian  would  have  guessed  that  a  human 
being  was  searching  every  inch  of  the  woodland 
shadow. 

The  man  had  already  traversed  a  third  of  the  bush  in 
this  fashion  when  the  unexpected  happened.  For  the 
tenth  time  he  approached  the  southern  fringe  of  the  bluff 
and  stood  half  hidden  in  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  large, 
scattered  bushes  outlying.  And  in  the  starlight  he  be- 
held a  familiar  figure  out  in  the  open,  watching  intently 
the  very  spot  at  which  he  had  emerged. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  figure,  even  in  that  dim 
light.  Did  not  everybody  know  that  head,  bent  so  de- 
liberately on  one  side  ?  The  hunched  shoulders  ?  The 
drawn-up  hip  ?  It  was  Elia,  and,  in  the  darkness,  a  fierce 
grin  of  satisfaction  lit  the  murderer's  face.  He  realized 
that  the  snarer  must  have  heard  his  approach,  and,  believ- 
ing it  to  be  a  jack-rabbit,  had  waited  to  make  sure.  The 
thought  tickled  his  cruel  senses,  and  he  wanted  to  laugh 
aloud.  But  he  refrained,  and,  instead,  moved  stealthily 
forward. 

The  bush  hid  him  while  he  had  a  good  view  of  his 
victim  through  its  upper  branches.  And  he  calculated 
that  if  the  boy  remained  standing  where  he  was,  with  a 
little  care  he  could  approach  to  within  a  yard  or  two  of 
him  without  being  discovered.  So  he  moved  forward, 


Will  Henderson  Reaches  the  End          335 

circling  the  bush  without  any  sound.  It  was  wonderful 
how  his  training  as  a  trapper  had  taught  him  the  science 
of  silent  woodcraft. 

As  he  reached  the  limits  of  his  shelter  he  dropped  upon 
his  stomach  and  began  to  wriggle  through  the  grass.  It 
pleased  him  to  do  this.  It  gave  him  a  sense  of  delight  at 
the  thought  of  the  horrible  awakening  the  cowardly  boy 
was  presently  to  receive. 

A  yard — two  yards,  he  slid  through  the  grass.  Three. 
One  more,  and  he  would  be  near  enough  for  his  purpose. 
Suddenly  and  silently  he  stood  erect,  like  a  figure  rising 
out  of  the  ground.  He  was  directly  in  front  of  the  boy, 
and  within  arm's  length  of  him.  He  stood  thus  for  a 
second  that  his  victim  might  realize  his  identity  thor- 
oughly, and  fully  digest  the  meaning  of  the  sudden  ap- 
parition. 

He  had  full  satisfaction.  Elia  recognized  him  and 
stood  petrified  with  terror.  So  awful  to  him  was  the 
meaning  of  that  silent  figure  that  he  had  not  even  the 
power  to  cry  out.  He  shook  convulsively  and  stood 
waiting. 

The  murderer  raised  one  hand  slowly  and  reached  out 
toward  the  boy.  His  hand  touched  his  clothing,  and 
moved  up  to  his  throat.  The  powerful  fingers  came  into 
contact  with  the  soft  flesh,  and  closed  upon  it.  Then  it 
was  that  the  moment  of  paralysis  passed.  The  boy  fell 
back  with  a  terrible  cry. 

But  Will  followed  him  up,  and  again  his  hand  reached 
his  throat.  He  grasped  it,  and  tightened  his  fingers  upon 
it.  A  gurgling  cry  of  abject  terror  was  the  response. 
Again  Will's  hand  released  its  hold.  But  now  he  seized 
one  of  the  boy's  outstretched  arms,  and,  with  a  sudden 


336  The  One-Way  Trail 

movement,  twisted  it  behind  his  back  so  hard  that  a  third 
cry,  this  time  of  pain  alone,  was  wrung  from  the  terrified 
lad. 

He  held  him  thus  and  looked  into  the  beautiful  face 
now  so  pitifully  distorted  with  fear. 

"  Guess  I've  done  the  tracking  this  time,"  Will  said 
through  his  clenched  teeth.  "  You  put  me  to  a  lot  of 
trouble  coming  all  this  way.  Still,  I  don't  guess  I  mind 
much.  Most  folks  get  their  med'cine.  You're  going  to 
get  yours  to-night.  How  d'you  like  it  ?  " 

He  wrenched  the  weakly  arm  till  the  boy  cried  out 
again,  and  dropped  to  his  knees  in  anguish.  But,  with  a 
ruthless  jolt,  Will  jerked  him  to  his  feet,  nearly  dislocating 
his  arm  in  the  process. 

"  Oh,  you're  squealing,  now,  eh  ?  You're  squealing," 
he  repeated,  striking  the  boy  on  the  hump  of  his  back 
with  his  clenched  first.  "  That  hurts  too,  eh  ?  "  As  a 
fresh  cry  broke  from  his  victim.  "  I  always  heard  that 
the  hump  was  tender  in  a  dog-ghasted  cripple.  Is  it  ? 
Is  it?"  he  inquired,  at  each  question  repeating  the  blow 
with  increased  force. 

He  released  his  hold,  and  the  boy  fell  to  the  ground. 
He  stood  looking  down  at  him  with  diabolical  purpose  in 
his  eyes. 

"  Say,  you  figgered  to  hand  me  over  to  the  rope,  eh  ? 
You  guessed  you'd  standby  watching  me  slowly  strangle, 
eh?  So  you  trailed  me,  and  went  on  to  Doc  Crombie 
and  told  him.  Ah — h.  You  like  hurting  things.  You 
like  seeing  folks  hurt.  But  you're  scared  to  death  being 
hurt  yourself.  That's  how  I  know.  I  could  kill  you 
with  the  grip  of  one  hand.  But  it  wouldn't  hurt  you 
enough.  At  least  not  to  suit  me.  You  must  be  hurt 


Will  Henderson  Reaches  the  End         337 

first.  You  must  know  what  it's  like  being  hurt,  you 
rotten,  loathsome  earthworm  !  " 

He  dealt  the  lad  a  terrific  kick  on  his  sickly,  sunken 
chest,  and  a  terrible  cry  broke  the  silence.  It  was  almost 
like  the  cry  of  a  pig  being  slaughtered,  so  piercing  and 
shrill  a  squeak  was  it. 

The  noise  of  his  cry  startled  his  torturer.  After  all 
they  were  not  far  from  the  village.  Then  he  laughed. 
A  cry  like  that  from  the  prairie  must  sound  like  a  hungry 
coyote  calling  to  its  mate.  Yes,  no  one  would  recognize 
it  for  a  human  cry.  He  would  try  it  again. 

He  dealt  the  prostrate  boy  another  furious  kick,  and 
he  had  his  wish.  A  third  time  the  blow  was  repeated  to 
satisfy  his  savage  lust,  and  he  laughed  aloud  at  the 
hideous  resulting  cry.  Again  and  again  he  kicked. 
And  the  cries  pleased  him,  and  they  sent  a  joyous  thrill 
through  him  at  the  thought  of  the  pain  the  lad  was  suf- 
fering. He  would  continue  it  until  the  cries  weakened, 
then  he  would  cease  for  a  while  to  let  his  victim  recover. 
Then  again  he  would  resume  the  fiendish  kicking,  and 
continue  it  at  intervals,  until  he  had  kicked  the  life  out 
of  the  deformed  body. 

He  drew  his  foot  back  for  another  blow.  But  the 
blow  remained  undelivered.  There  was  a  rush  of  horse's 
hoofs,  a  clatter  as  they  ceased,  the  sound  of  running  feet, 
and  a  smashing  blow  took  the  torturer  on  the  side  of  the 
jaw.  He  dropped  like  a  log  beside  his  victim.  The 
whole  thing  was  the  work  of  an  instant.  So  swift  had 
come  the  avenging  blow  that,  in  the  darkness,  he  had  no 
time  to  realize  its  coming. 

Jim  Thorpe  stood  over  his  man  waiting  for  him  to  rise, 
or  show  some  sign  of  life.  But  there  was  neither  move- 


338  The  One- Way  Trail 

ment  nor  apparent  life  in  him.  In  the  avenger's  heart 
there  was  a  wild  hope  that  the  man  was  dead.  He  had 
hit  him  with  such  a  feeling  in  his  frenzy  of  passion. 
But  he  knew  he  had  only  knocked  the  brute  out. 

As  Will  remained  still  where  he  had  fallen,  Jim  turned 
away  with  a  sigh.  It  would  have  been  difficult  to  inter- 
pret his  sigh.  Maybe  it  was  the  sigh  of  a  man  who 
suddenly  relaxes  himself  from  a  tremendous  physical 
effort ;  maybe  it  was  at  the  thought  that  his  momentary 
desire  had  been  accomplished  ;  maybe  it  was  for  the  poor 
lad  whose  terrible  cries  were  still  ringing  in  his  ears. 

Thinking  only  of  Elia,  he  now  dropped  on  his  knees 
beside  him.  There  was  sufficient  light  from  the  stars  to 
show  him  the  lad's  pallid  upturned  face  and  staring, 
agonized  eyes.  In  a  second  his  arms  were  about  his 
misformed  body,  and  he  tenderly  raised  him  up  and 
spoke  to  him, 

"  Look  up,  laddie,"  he  said  gently.  "  You  aren't  hurt 
too  bad,  are  you  ?  I  got  here  quick  as  I  could.  Say,  he 
hasn't  smashed  you,  has  he  ?  God  !  if  he  has ! "  He 
looked  round  at  the  fallen  man  with  blazing  eyes,  as  the 
thought  flashed  through  his  mind. 

But  suddenly  he  felt  Elia's  body  writhe,  and  he  turned 
to  him  again  with  eager  words  of  encouragement. 

"  Buck  up,  laddie,"  he  said,  without  much  conviction. 
"  Guess  you  aren't  smashed  as  bad  as  you  think.  It's 
Jim.  I'll  look  after  you.  He  won't  hit  you  again.  I've 
fixed  him." 

Elia's  staring  eyes  suddenly  lost  their  tension.  He 
moved  his  head  and  tried  to  free  his  arms.  Jim  picked 
him  up  and  set  him  on  his  feet,  and  noted  that  he 
breathed  more  freely.  Yes,  he  had  been  in  time- 


Will  Henderson  Reaches  the  End         339 

Elia  steadied  himself  for  a  moment  against  his  arm. 
He  was  silent,  and  still  breathing  hard.  His  body  was 
racked  with  fierce  pain,  but  his  poor  distorted  mind  was 
suffering  greater.  Jim  waited  patiently.  He  understood. 
It  was  the  awful  shock  that  the  boy,  in  his  helpless  fashion, 
was  struggling  with. 

Some  moments  passed  thus,  and  at  last  the  words 
which  Jim  was  waiting  for  came.  But  they  shocked  him 
strangely. 

"  Did  you  kill  him  ? "  Elia  asked,  with  a  struggle 
controlling  his  halting  tongue. 

"  No,  boy,  he's  only  knocked  out — I  think." 

"  You're  a  fule,"  whispered  the  lad  viciously. 

Jim  had  no  answer  to  this,  and  the  boy,  recovering 
slowly,  spoke  again. 

"  Best  kill  him  now,"  he  said.  "  He's  a  devil.  He's 
smashed  me  all  up.  He's  smashed  my  sick  body,  and 
things  feel  queer  inside  me.  Kill  him,  Jim  !  Kill  him  !  " 

Watching  the  working  face,  the  man  sickened  at  the 
inhuman  desire  of  the  boy.  Where  did  he  ever  get 
such  a  frightful  nature  from  ?  It  was  monstrous. 

"  Here,"  he  said  almost  sternly,  "  can  you  walk?  " 

"  I  guess."  The  tone  had  that  peculiar  sullenness 
which  generally  portended  an  outbreak  of  the  most  vi- 
cious side  of  the  boy's  temper. 

"  Then  get  over  there  by  my  horse  and  wait  till  I 
come.  I'll  put  you  on  him,  and  you  can  ride  back 
home." 

"  What  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

The  demand  was  an  eager  whisper.  It  suggested  the 
hope  that  Jim  was  perhaps  after  all  going  to  do  as  he 
asked — and  kill  Will  Henderson. 


340  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  I'm  going  to  see — how  bad  Will  is.     Be  off  now." 

"  Can't  I  stay — an'  watch  you  ?  " 

"  No.     Get  on  after  that  horse." 

Elia  turned  away,  and  Jim  watched  his  painful  gait 
Once  he  thought  he  saw  him  stagger,  but,  as  he  con- 
tinued to  hobble  on,  he  turned  again  to  the  injured  man. 
One  glance  at  his  face  showed  him  the  extent  of  his 
handiwork.  He  was  ripped  open  right  along  the  jawr 
and  the  bone  itself  was  badly  broken. 

He  instantly  whipped  out  his  sheath-knife  and  a 
handkerchief.  The  latter  he  cut  up  into  a  bandage. 
Then,  removing  the  silk  scarf  at  his  neck,  he  folded  it 
into  a  soft  pad,  and  bound  it  over  the  wound.  Curiously 
he  felt  he  must  lend  what  aid  he  could  first,  and  then 
send  out  adequate  help  from  the  village. 

He  stood  up,  took  a  final  glance  at  the  wounded  face, 
and  turned  coldly  away  toward  his  horse. 

But  now  events  took  an  unexpected  and  disconcerting 
turn.  When  he  reached  his  horse  Elia  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen.  He  called,  but  received  no  answer.  He  called 
again,  but  still  no  answer.  And  suddenly  he  became 
alarmed.  He  remembered  the  boy's  condition.  He 
must  have  collapsed  somewhere. 

He  promptly  began  to  search.  Taking  his  horse  as  a 
central  point  he  moved  round  it  in  ever  widening  circles, 
calling  at  intervals,  and  with  his  eyes  glued  to  the  long 
grass  which  swished  under  his  feet.  For  more  than  ten 
minutes  he  searched  in  vain ;  and  then,  once  more,  he 
found  himself  beside  the  man  he  had  knocked  out. 

He  was  thoroughly  alarmed  now.  Eve  was  still  anx- 
iously awaiting  news  of  her  brother.  The  thing  was 
quite  inexplicable.  He  could  never  have  attempted  to 


Will  Henderson  Reaches  the  End         341 

walk  home.  Why  should  he  ?  Finally  he  decided  that 
he  must  have  strolled  into  the  bush  and  sat  down, 
and 

His  glance  fell  upon  the  man  lying  at  his  feet.  How 

still  he  lay.  How Hello,  what  was  this  ?  He  had 

left  him  lying  on  his  side.  Now  his  pale  face  was  turned 
directly  up  at  the  sky.  And — he  dropped  on  his  knees 
at  his  side — his  bandage  had  been  removed.  He  glanced 
about.  There  it  was,  a  yard  away  in  the  grass.  In 
wondering  astonishment  his  eyes  came  back  to  the 
ghastly  face  of  the  unconscious  man.  Somehow  it 
Booked  different,  yet 

A  glance  at  his  body  drew  an  exclamation  of  horror 
from  his  lips.  For  a  moment  every  drop  of  blood  seemed 
to  recede  from  his  brain,  leaving  him  cold.  A  clammy 
moisture  broke  out  upon  his  forehead  at  what  he  beheld. 
The  man's  clothing  had  been  torn  open  leaving  his 
chest  bare,  and  he  now  beheld  his  own  knife  plunged  to 
the  hilt  in  the  white  flesh.  Will  Henderson  was  dead — 
stabbed  through  the  heart  by 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  cry  of  horror,  and  his 
eyes  flashed  right  and  left  as  though  in  search  of  the 

murderer.  Wholiad  done  this  thing  ?  Who ?  As 

though  in  answer  to  his  thought,  Elia's  voice  reached 
him  from  out  of  the  bushes. 

"  He's  sure  dead.     I  hate  him." 

Then  followed  a  rustling  of  the  brushwood,  as  though 
the  boy  had  taken  himself  off. 

Jim  made  no  attempt  to  follow  him.  He  remained 
staring  into  the  black  woods  whence  that  voice  had  pro- 
ceeded. He  was?  petrified  with  the  horror  of  the  boy's 
deed. 


342  The  One-Way  Trail 

He  stood  for  some  minutes  thus.  Then  thought 
became  active  once  more.  And  curiously  enough  it 
was  cool,  calm,  and  debating.  The  possibilities  that  had 
so  suddenly  opened  up  were  tremendous.  Tremendous 
and — hideous.  Yet  they  stirred  him  far  less  than  might 
have  been  expected.  Black,  foul  murder  had  been 
committed,  and  in  a  way  that  threw  the  entire  blame 
on  himself. 

He  saw  it  all  in  a  flash.  It  needed  but  the  smallest 
intelligence  to  do  so.  There  was  no  mind  in  BarnrifY 
but  would  inevitably  fix  on  his  guilt — even  his  friend 
Peter.  How  could  it  be  otherwise?  There  was  his 
knife.  There  were  his  handkerchiefs.  The  white  one 
had  his  name  on  it.  The  knife  had  his  initials  branded 
on  its  handle.  His  last  words  to  Eve  had  been  a  threat 
to  kill  her  husband. 

And  Elia  had  done  this  hideous  thing.  A  weak, 
sickly  boy.  It  was  terrible,  and  he  shuddered.  What 
hatred  he  must  have  had  for  the  dead  man.  He  found 
himself  almost  sympathizing  with  the  lad's  feelings. 
Yes,  Will  had  certainly  brought  this  thing  upon  himself. 
He — deserved  his  fate.  Yet  Elia — the  thought  re- 
volted him. 

But  suddenly  a  fresh  significance  came  to  him.  He 
had  missed  it  before.  What  would  this  mean  to  Eve? 
Elta's  guilt.  What  would  Will's  death  mean  to  her? 
But  now  his  thoughts  ran  faster.  Elia's  guilt?  Eve 
would  never  believe  it.  Besides,  if  she  did  it  would  break 
her  heart.  The  boy  was  something  like  a  passion  to 
her.  He  was  almost  as  though  he  were  part  of  herself. 
She  loved  him  as  though  he  were  flesh  of  her  own  flesh 

No,  even  if  it  were  possible  to  convince  her,  she  must 


Will  Henderson  Reaches  the  End         343 

never  be  told.  His  crime  must  be  covered  up  some  way. 
But  how  ? 

The  man  stood  lost  in  thought  for  nearly  half  an  hour. 
They  were  the  thoughts  of  a  man  who  at  last  sees  the  end 
of  all  things  earthly  looming  heavily  upon  his  horizon. 
There  was  no  cowardly  shrinking,  there  was  very  little 
regret.  What  he  must  do  he  felt  was  being  forced  upon 
him  by  an  invincible  fate,  but  the  sting  of  it  was  far  less 
poignant  than  would  have  been  the  case  a  few  months 
ago.  In  fact  the  sting  was  hardly  there  at  all. 

At  all  costs  Eve  must  be  protected.  She  must  never 
know  the  truth.  It  was  bad  enough  that  her  husband 
was  dead.  He  wondered  vaguely  how  far  her  love  had 
survived  the  man's  outrages.  Yes,  she  loved  him  still. 
He  could  never  forget  her  the  night  he  had  volunteered 
to  carry  the  warning  to  Will.  Strange,  he  thought,  how 
a  woman  will  cling  to  the  man  who  has  once  possessed 
her  love. 

Ah,  well,  he  had  never  known  the  possession  of  such  a 
priceless  jewel  as  a  good  woman's  love.  And  now  he 
was  never  likely  to  have  the  chance,  he  admitted  with  a 
simple  regret.  It  seemed  pretty  hard.  And  yet — he 
almost  smiled — it  would  be  all  the  same  after  a  few  pain- 
ful moments. 

And  only  a  brief  hour  ago  he  had  been  yearning  to 
fight,  with  his  back  to  the  wall,  against  the  suspicion  and 
feeling  against  him  in  the  village.  He  smiled  with  a 
shadow  of  bitterness  and  shook  his  head.  Useless — quite 
useless.  The  one-way  trail  was  well  marked  for  him,  and 
he  had  traveled  it  as  best  he  knew  how.  As  Peter  said, 
there  were  no  side  paths.  Just  a  narrow  road,  and  the 
obstructions  and  perils  on  the  way  were  set  there  for 


344  The  One- Way  Trail 

each  to  face.  Well,  he  would  face  this  last  one  with  a 
"  stiff  upper-lip." 

One  thing  he  was  irrevocably  determined  upon,  never 
by  word  or  action  would  he  add  to  Eve's  unhappiness. 
And,  if  the  cruel  fate  that  had  always  dogged  him  de- 
manded this  final  sacrifice,  he  would  at  least  have  the 
trifling  satisfaction  of  knowing,  as  he  went  out  of  the 
world,  that  her  future  had  been  rendered  the  smoother 
by  the  blow  that  had  removed  Will  from  his  sphere  of 
crime. 

He  walked  briskly  back  to  his  horse  and  leaped  upon 
its  back.  Then,  turning  its  head,  he  sat  for  a  moment 
thinking.  There  was  still  a  way  out.  Still  a  means  of 
escape  without  Eve's  learning  the  truth.  But  it  was  a 
coward's  way,  it  was  the  way  of  the  guilty.  It  was  quite 
simple,  too.  He  only  had  to  go  back  and  withdraw  the 
knife  from  the  man's  body,  and  gather  up  the  two  hand- 
kerchiefs, and — ride  away.  It  sounded  easy ;  it  was  easy. 
A  new  country.  A  fresh  people  who  did  not  know  him. 
Another  start  in  life.  There  was  hope  in  the  thought. 
Yes,  a  little,  but  not  much.  The  accusing  finger  would 
follow  him  pointing,  the  shadow  of  the  rope  would  haunt 
him  wherever  he  went  in  spite  of  his  innocence. 

"  Psha !  No ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  rode  away  toward 
the  village. 


1 

CHAPTER  XXXI 


THE   DISCOMFITURE   OF   SMALLBONES 

NEVER  in  all  his  recollection  had  Silas  Rocket  had 
such  a  profitable  night.  From  sundown  on,  his  saloon 
was  packed  almost  to  suffocation,  and  he  scarcely  had 
time  to  wipe  a  single  glass  between  drinks,  so  rapidly 
were  the  orders  shouted  across  his  bar.  All  the  male 
portion  of  Barnriff  were  present,  with  the  addition  of 
nearly  thirty  men  from  the  outlying  ranges.  It  was  a 
sort  of  mass  meeting  summoned  by  Doc  Crombie,  who 
had  finally,  but  reluctantly,  been  driven  to  yield  to  the 
public  cry  against  Jim  Thorpe. 

The  doctor  understood  his  people,  and  knew  just  how 
far  his  authority  would  carry  him.  He  had  exerted  that 
authority  to  the  breaking  point  to  protect  a  man,  whom, 
in  his  heart,  he  believed  to  be  innocent  of  the  charges 
laid  at  his  door.  But  now  the  popular  voice  was  too 
strong  for  him,  and  he  yielded  with  an  ill-grace. 

Smallbones  was  the  man  responsible  for  this  rebellion 
against  a  long-recognized  authority.  He  was  at  the 
bottom  of  the  campaign  against  Jim  Thorpe.  Whether 
he  was  himself  convinced  of  the  man's  guilt  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  say.  For  some  reason,  which  was 
scarcely  apparent,  he  meant  to  hang  him.  And,  with  all 
the  persistence  of  a  venomous  nature,  he  shouted  his  de- 
nunciation, until  at  last  his  arguments  gained  credence. 


346  The  One- Way  Trail 

and  his  charges  found  echo  in  the  deep  throats  of 
men  who  originally  had  little  or  nothing  to  say  in  the 
matter. 

The  meeting  was  in  full  swing,  tempers  were  roused  in 
proportion  to  the  arguments  flung  about  at  haphazard, 
and  the  quantities  of  liquor  consumed  in  the  process  of 
the  debate.  At  first  the  centre  of  the  floor  had  been 
kept  clear  for  the  speakers,  and  the  audience  was  lined 
up  around  the  walls,  but  as  the  discussion  warmed  there 
was  less  order,  and  Doc  Crombie,  in  spite  of  his  sternest 
language,  was  powerless  to  keep  the  judicial  atmosphere 
necessary  to  treat  the  matter  in  a  dignified  manner. 
Smallbones  kept  up  a  fiery  run  of  comment  and  spleen- 
ful argument  on  every  individual  who  backed  the  doctor 
in  his  demand  for  moderation.  He  ridiculed,  he  cursed, 
he  showered  personal  abuse,  until  he  had  everybody  by 
the  ears,  and  by  the  sheer  power  of  his  venom  herded 
the  majority  to  side  with  him. 

One  of  the  men  he  could  not  influence  was  Peter 
Blunt.  He  did  his  utmost  to  provoke  the  big  man  to  a 
personal  attack  upon  himself  that  he  might  turn  loose 
personalities  against  him,  and  charge  him  with  complicity 
in  some  of  Jim's  doings,  however  absurdly  untrue  they 
might  be.  He  had  all  a  demagogue's  gift  for  carrying 
an  audience  with  him.  He  never  failed  to  seize  upon 
an  opportunity  to  launch  a  poisonous  shaft,  or  sneer  at 
the  class  to  which  Jim  and  such  men  as  Peter  belonged. 
Before  he  left  that  saloon  he  meant  to  obtain  a  verdict 
against  his  man. 

Doc  Crombie's  anger  was  hot  against  the  hardware 
dealer.  He  meant  ruling  against  him  in  the  end,  but  he 
was  not  quite  sure  how  that  ruling  would  be  generally 


The  Discomfiture  of  Smallbones          347 

received.  He  was  now  listening  to  a  final  appeal  from 
Peter  in  the  hopes  of  gleaning  something  that  might  help 
him  when  he  finally  set  his  foot  on  the  neck  of  Small- 
bones'  charges.  * 

"  See  here,  fellers,"  Peter  said,  with  a  quiet  directness 
of  manner,  but  in  a  voice  that  rose  above  the  hum  of 
general  talk,  and  at  once  silenced  it,  "  you've  heard  a 
whole  heap  of '  tosh  '  from  Smallbones  and  his  gang.  I 
tell  you  that  feller's  got  a  mind  as  big  as  a  pea,  and  with 
just  about  as  much  wind  in  it.  You've  heard  him  ac- 
cuse Jim  Thorpe  of  cattle  stealing  on  evidence  which  we 
all  know,  and  which  wouldn't  convince  a  kid  of  ten,  by 
reason  of  its  absurd  simplicity.  Do  ^1  need  to  ask  sensible 
men  such  as  you  if  any  sane  rustler  is  going  to  do  the 
things  which  you're  trying  to  say  Jim  Thorpe  did  ?  Is 
any  sane  rustler  going  to  use  his  own  brand,  and  run 
stolen  cattle  with  his  legitimate  stock,  in  a  place  where 
folks  can  always  see  'em  ?  Sure,  sure  you  don't  need  to 
ask  yourselves  even.  Jim  Thorpe's  been  a  straight  man 
all  his  days  in  Barnriff.  '  Honest  Jim  Thorpe '  you've  all 
many  a  time  called  him.  I  tell  you  this  thing  is  a  put-up 
job.  Some  dirty,  mean  skunk  has  set  out  to  ruin  him 
for  some  reason  unknown.  There  are  mean  folks,"  he 
went  on,  with  his  keen  eyes  fixed  on  Smallbones,  "  here 
in  Barnriff.  They're  mean  enough  to  do  this  if  they 
only  hated  Jim  enough.  I'd  hate  to  cast  reflections,  but 
I  believe  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  that  Smallbones, 
if  he  hated  enough,  would  do  such  a  trick.  I " 

"  Are  you  accusin'  me,  you  durned  hulk  ?  "  shrieked 
the  hardware  dealer  fiercely. 

"  I  wasn't,"  remarked  Peter,  calmly.  "  But  if  you  like, 
I  will.  I'm  not  a  heap  particular.  And  there'd  be  just 


348  The  One-Way  Trail 

about  as  much  sense  in  doing  so  as  there  is  in  your  ac- 
cusations against  Jim." 

"  Hark  at  him,  fellers/'  cried  the  furious  Smallbones, 
pointing  at  the  big  man.  •«  He's  his  friend — he'd  sell  his 
stinkin'  soul  for  him.  He'd " 

"  I'd  sell  my  soul  for  no  man,"  Peter  replied,  cutting 
him  short.  "  But  I'd  like  to  keep  it  as  decently  clean  as 
such  folks  as  you  will  let  me.  Now  listen  to  me.  You've 
no  right  to  condemn  this  man  in  the  way  you're  trying 
to.  I  don't  know  what  your  ultimate  intentions  are  about 
him.  I  dare  say  some  of  you  would  like  to  hang  him, 
but  there's  too  many  sane  men  who'd  stop  such  as  Small- 
bones  at  tricks  like  that.  But  you've  no  right  to  ban- 
ish him  out  of  the  district,  or  even  censure  him.  He's 
done  nothing " 

"  What  about  the  Henderson  woman  ? "  cried  Small- 
bones. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cried  several  voices,  standing  near  their 
little  leader. 

Peter's  eyes  lit. 

"  Don't  you  dare  to  mention  her  name  in  here,  Small- 
bones,"  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  fierceness,  "  or,  small  as 
you  are,  I'll  smash  you  to  a  pulp,  and  kick  you  from  here 
to  your  store.  In  your  wretched  gossip,  and  in  your 
scandal-loving  hearts  you  must  say  and  think  what  you 
please,  but  don't  do  it  here,  for  I  won't  stand  for  it." 

A  murmur  applauded  him  from  Doc  Crombie's  direction, 
and  even  Smallbones  was  silenced  for  the  moment.  Peter 
went  on. 

"  See  here,  I'm  known  to  everybody.  I'm  known  in 
most  places  where  the  grass  of  the  prairie  grows,  and  my 
name's  mostly  good.  Well,  I  want  to  say  right  here,  on 


The  Discomfiture  of  Smallbones          349 

my  oath,  Jim  Thorpe's  no  cattle-thief,  and,  as  God  is  my 
judge,  I  know  that  to  be  true.  Jim  Thorpe  hasn't  an  evil 
thought  in  his " 

"  Hold  on,"  cried  Doc  Crombie,  excitedly,  as  the  swing 
doors  were  pushed  suddenly  open.  "  Here's  some  one 
who'll  mebbe  have  a  word  to  say  fer  himself.  You're 
jest  in  time  to  say  a  word  or  two,  Jim  Thorpe,"  he  smiled, 
as  the  man's  pale  face  appeared  in  their  midst. 

44  Here  he  is,"  cried  Smallbones,  his  wicked  eyes  spark- 
ling. "  Here  he  is,  fellers.  Here  is  the  man  I  accuse 
right  here  of  bein'  a  low-down  cattle-thief.  That's  your 
charge,  Jim  Thorpe.  An'  don't  ferget  we  hang  cat- 
tle   " 

"  Shut  your  rotten  face,  you  worm  !  "  cried  Jim,  con- 
temptuously. He  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 
Everybody  had  made  way  for  him,  and  now  he  confronted 
a  circle  of  accusing  faces.  He  glanced  swiftly  round  till 
his  dark  eyes  rested  on  the  hawk-like  visage  of  the  doctor. 

"  Say,  Will  Henderson's  dead,"  he  said,  in  a  quiet, 
solemn  voice.  "  He's  been  murdered.  He's  lying  up 
there  on  the  south  side  of  the  eastern  bluff.  Guess 
you'd  best  send  up  and — see  to  him." 

His  words  produced  a  sudden  and  deathly  silence. 
Every  eye  was  upon  his  pale  face  in  excited,  incredulous 
wonderment.  Will  Henderson  dead  ?  Their  questioning 
eyes  asked  plainly  for  more  information,  while  their 
tongues  were  silent  with  something  like  awe.  Smallbones 
reached  his  glass  from  the  counter  and  drank  its  contents 
at  a  gulp,  but  his  eyes  never  left  Jim's  face.  His  astonish- 
ment didn't  interfere  with  the  rapid  working  of  his  mean 
brain.  To  him  Jim  looked  a  sick  man.  There  was  some- 
thing defiant  in  the  dark  eyes.  The  man,  to  his  swift 


350  The  One- Way  Trail 

imagination,  was  unduly  perturbed.  He  glanced  down  at 
his  clothes,  and  his  eyes  fixed  themselves  greedily  upon 
the  fingers  of  the  hand  nearest  to  him.  A  flash  of  triumph 
shot  into  his  eyes  as  he  heard  Doc  Crombie's  voice  sud- 
denly break  the  silence. 

"  How'd  it  happen  ?     Who  did  it  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

Jim's  answer  came  promptly. 

"  He's  up  there  stabbed  to  death.  Stabbed  through  the 
heart.  As  to  who  did  it,  that's  to  be  found  out."  He 
shrugged.  His  eyes  were  on  the  doctor  without  shrink- 
ing. 

But  he  turned  swiftly  as  Smallbones'  harsh  tones  drew 
every  one's  attention. 

"  Say,  hold  up  your  left  hand,  Jim  Thorpe,"  he  cried 
gleefully.  "  Hold  it  right  up  an'  tell  us  what  that  red  is 
on  it.  Say,  I  don't  guess  we'll  need  to  puzzle  a  heap 
over  how  Will  Henderson  come  by  his  death." 

Jim  raised  his  hand.  There  was  nothing  else  to  be 
done.  For  a  second  he  gazed  at  it  ruefully.  But  it  was 
only  the  sight  of  the  murdered  man's  blood  on  it  that 
disturbed;  him,  and  not  any  thought  of  the  consequences 
of  its  discovery. 

"  It's  Will  Henderson's  blood,"  he  said  frankly.  "  It 
was  necessary  for  me  to  touch  him." 

The  frankness  of  his  admission  was  not  without  its  ef- 
fect upon  those  who  did  not  belong  to  Smallbones'  ex- 
tremist party,  but  to  them  it  passed  as  a  mere  subterfuge. 
They  promptly  gave  voice  to  an  ominous  murmur  which 
momentarily  threatened  to  break  out  into  violence. 
But  Smallbones  saw  fresh  possibilities.  He  suddenly 
changed  his  frenzied  tactics,  and  entirely  moderated  his 
tone. 


Tiie  Discomfiture  of  Smallbones          351 

"  You've  come  straight  in  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yep."  Jim's  face  wore  something  approaching  a 
smile.  He  knew  exactly  what  to  expect  before  the  night 
was  out,  and  Smallbones'  questions  had  no  terrors  for  him. 
He  had  nothing  to  gain,  and  nothing  to  lose,  except  that 
which  he  had  already  made  up  his  mind  to  lose — if  nec- 
essary. 

"What  wer'  you  doin'  out  by  that  bluff?"  Smallbones 
demanded. 

41  That's  my  business." 

The  little  man  snarled  furiously.  All  eyes  were  set  cu- 
riously upon  Jim's  face,  but  there  were  several  smiles  at  the 
manner  of  the  snub.  Peter  Blunt  standing  beside  Angel 
Gay  was  hopelessly  wondering  at  the  sudden  turn  of 
events. 

But  now  Doc  Crombie  once  more  took  the  lead. 

"  We'll  send  up  six  boys  and  bring  him  in.  I'll  go 
myself."  He  turned  and  gave  his  orders.  Then  his 
luminious  eyes  settled  themselves  steadily  upon  Jim's  face. 
"  We  want  the  rights  o*  this,  sure.  Do  you  know  any- 
thing more?" 

But  Jim  was  tired  of  the  questioning.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"  I've  told  all  I've  got  to  tell  you.  For  Heaven's  sake, 
go  and  fetch  in  the  man's  body.  It'll  maybe  tell  you 
more  than  it  told  me." 

He  turned  to  the  bar  and  called  for  a  drink,  which  he 
devoured  thirstily. 

But  Doc  Crombie  was  not  to  be  dealt  with  in  so  cava- 
lier a  fashion. 

"  You'll  come  along  up  an'  show  us  just  wher'  Hender- 
son is,"  he  said  sharply.  "  It'll  make  it  easier  findin'." 


3J2  The  One- Way  Trail 

He  stepped  up  to  him,  and  tapped  him  on  the  shoul- 
der. "  Do  you  get  me  ?  Ther's  been  murder  done. 
an» " 

dll     — 

"  I'll  stay  right  here,"  said  Jim,  flashing  round  on  him. 
"  I've  seen  all  I  want  to  see  up  there.  You'll  have  no 
difficulty  locating  him.  He's  on  the  south  side." 

"  You'll  come "  Doc  began. 

But  Smallbones,  still  smarting  under  his  snub,  could  no 
longer  keep  silent. 

"  Take  him  prisoner,"  he  demanded.  "  Get  him  now. 
Are  you  goin'  to  let  him  get  away  ?  Once  he's  on  his 

horse  he'll Say,  he's  got  blood  on  his  hands,  and 

he's  the  on'y  man  with  reason  to  wish  Will  Henderson 
dead.  Gee,  get  his  guns  away  an'  strap  him  fast." 

But  the  doctor  ignored  the  interruption. 

"  You're  coming  out  there,  Jim  Thorpe,"  he  said  de- 
liberately, "  or  you'll  hand  over  your  guns,  and " 

"  Consider  myself  under  your  arrest,  eh  ?"  Jim  promptly 
removed  both  of  his  guns  from  their  holsters,  and  handed 
them,  butt  first,  to  the  doctor.  "  Guess  I'll  stay  right 
here,"  he  said  easily.  "  And  I'm  glad  to  hand  you  those ; 
it'll  save  me  using  them  on  Smallbones." 

The  furious  hardware  dealer  now  bristled  up,  and  his 
mean  face  was  thrust  up  so  that  he  stared  into  Jim's  with 
all  the  cruelty  of  his  hatred  laid  bare  in  his  eyes. 

"  Yes,  you  ken  stay  right  here  an*  we'll  look  after  you, 
me  an'  a  few  o'  the  boys.  You're  a  prisoner,  Jim  Thorpe, 
and  if  you  attempt  to  escape,  we'll  blow  you  to  bits. 
We'll  look  after  you,  sure.  You  shan't  escape,  don't  you 
mistake.  It  'ud  do  me  good  to  hand  you  a  little  lead 
pizenin'." 

"  I've  no  doubt,"  was  all  the  answer  Jim  vouchsafed. 


The  Discomfiture  of  Smallbones  353 

But  before  Smallbones  could  retort,  Peter  Blunt,  fol- 
lowed by  Jake  Wilkes  and  Angel  Gay,  approached. 

"  We'll  stay  here  too,  Doc,"  he  said.  "  Guess  Small- 
bones  '11  need  help.  You  see  he  isn't  much  of  a  man  to 
look  after  a  prisoner.  Anyway,  Jim  Thorpe's  a  friend 
of  ours." 

"  Right,  Peter,  an'  you  two  fellers,"  cried  the  relieved 
doctor.  "  I  ken  hear  the  buckboard  I  sent  over  for  comin' 
along.  I'll  start  right  out."  Then  he  added  pointedly, 
11 1  guess  I'll  leave  him  in  your  charge." 

The  doctor  passed  out  and  was  followed  at  once  by 
most  of  Rocket's  customers,  all  eager  to  investigate  the 
murder  for  their  own  morbid  satisfaction.  And  thus  only 
the  three  friends  of  Jim  Thorpe,  with  Smallbones  and  two 
others,  were  left  with  the  prisoner. 

The  moment  the  doors  had  swung  to  behind  the  last 
of  the  departures,  Peter  Blunt  suddenly  strode  across  the 
room  to  where  Smallbones  stood,  staring  at  his  intended 
victim  with  snapping  eyes.  So  sudden  was  his  approach 
that  the  little  man  was  taken  quite  unawares.  He  seized 
him  by  the  collar  with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  de- 
prived him  of  the  guns  with  which  he  was  still  armed, 
as  a  result  of  his  service  on  the  vigilance  committee,  and, 
though  he  struggled  and  cursed  violently,  he  carried  him 
bodily  to  the  door  and  deliberately  flung  him  outside. 

"  If  you  attempt  to  get  in  here  again  till  Doc  returns 
I'll  throw  you  out  just  the  same  again,  if  I  have  to  do  it 
twenty  times,"  Peter  declared.  Then  he  turned  back  to 
the  men  at  the  bar. 

"  I  feel  mean  havin'  to  do  it,"  he  said,  almost  shame- 
facedly. "  Only  I  guess  things  '11  be  more  comfortable 
all  round  now." 


354  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Thanks,  Peter,"  said  Jim  simply,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

Peter  took  it  and  wrung  it. 

"  You  see  he  wants  to — hang  you,  Jim,"  he  said  by 
way  of  explanation. 

«  And  he'll  do  it." 

Jim's  words  came  so  solemnly  that  the  men  beside  him 
were  startled. 

"  But — but  you  didn't — kill  him  ?  "  Peter  stammered. 

Jim  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said  decidedly.  "  But— he'll  hang  me— 
sure." 

"  Will  he?  "  cried  Peter  emphatically.     "  We'll  see." 

And  the  startled  look  in  his  eyes  was  again  replaced  by 
the  shrewd,  kindly  expression  Jim  knew  so  well. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE   TRIUMPH    OF   SMALLBONES 

PETER  had  been  talking.  Now  he  paused  listening. 
Jake  and  Gay  turned  their  eyes  toward  the  swing  doors. 
Silas  Rocket,  who  had  availed  himself  of  the  respite  to 
wipe  a  few  glasses,  paused  in  his  work.  He,  too,  was 
listening.  But  the  almost  mechanical  process  of  cleaning 
glasses  was  resumed  at  once.  Not  even  life  or  death 
could  long  interfere  with  his  scheme  of  money-making. 
He  had  seen  too  much  of  the  forceful  side  of  his  customers 
in  his  time  to  let  such  a  thing  as  a  simple  murder  inter- 
fere with  his  long  established  routine. 

It  was  Jim  who  now  spoke.  He  was  the  calmest  of 
those  present,  except  perhaps  Silas  Rocket.  He  appeared 
to  have  no  fear  of  the  consequences  of  this  affair  to  him- 
self. Perhaps  it  'was  the  confidence  of  innocence.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  great  courage  of  a  brave  man  for  whom 
death — even  a  disgraceful  death — has  no  terrors.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  knowledge  of  what  he  was  saving  the 
woman  he  loved,  which  served  to  inspire  him.  His  eyes 
were  even  smiling  as  he  looked  into  Peter's. 

"  They're  coming  along,"  he  said,  with  one  ear  turned 
toward  the  door. 

Peter  nodded. 

"  It's  them,  sure,"  he  said. 

"  I  ken  hear  the  buckboard.  It's  movin'  slow,"  said 
Gay  solemnly. 


356  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Which  means  they  got  him,"  added  Jake  con- 
clusively. 

"  We'll  have  a  drink  first,"  said  Jim.  Then  he  added 
whimsically,  "  Maybe  we'll  need  it." 

The  silent  acceptance  of  his  invitation  was  due  to  the 
significance  of  their  host's  position.  And  afterward  the 
glasses  were  set  down  empty  upon  the  counter,  without  a 
word.  Then  Jim  turned  to  Peter,  and  his  manner  was  a 
trifle  regretful.  But  that  was  all.  An  invincible  purpose 
shone  in  his  dark  eyes. 

"  They'll  be  here  in  a  minute,  Peter,"  he  said,  with  a 
shadowy  smile.  "  I've  got  a  word  to  say  before  they  get 
around.  We've  been  good  friends,  and  now,  at  the  last, 
I'd  hate  you  to  get  a  wrong  notion  of  things.  I  call  God 
to  witness  that  I  did  not  kill  Will  Henderson.  It's  be- 
cause we're  friends  I  tell  you  this,  now.  It's  because 
these  folk  are  going  to  hang  me.  You  can  stake  your 
last  cent  on  that  being  the  truth,  and  if  you  don't  get 
paid  in  this  world,  I  sure  guess  you  will  in  the  next. 
Well— here  they  are." 

As  he  finished  speaking  the  doors  were  pushed  open 
and  men  began  to  stream  in.  It  was  a  curiously  silent 
crowd.  For  these  men  a  death,  even  a  murder,  had  little 
awe.  They  understood  too  well  the  forceful  methods  of 
the  back  countries,  where  the  laws  of  civilization  had 
difficulty  in  reaching.  They  had  too  long  governed  their 
own  social  affairs  without  appeal  to  the  parent  govern- 
ment. What  could  Washington  know  of  their  require- 
ments ?  What  could  a  judge  of  the  circuit  know  of  the 
conditions  in  which  they  lived  ?  They  preferred  their 
own  methods,  drastic  as  they  were  and  often  wrong  in 
their  judgments.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  they  were  effi- 


The  Triumph  of  Smailbones  357 

cacious  and  salutary.  Life  and  death  were  small  enough 
matters  to  them,  but  the  career  of  a  criminal,  and  its 
swift  termination,  short,  sharp  and  violent,  was  of  para- 
mount importance.  It  was  the  thought  that  they  be- 
lieved there  was  justice,  their  own  justice,  to  be  dealt  out 
to  a  criminal  that  night,  that  now  depressed  them  to  an 
awed  silence. 

Three  or  four  men  placed  several  of  the  small  tables 
together,  forming  them  into  a  sort  of  bier.  Then  they 
stood  by  while  others  pushed  their  way  in  through  the 
swing  doors.  Finally,  two  men  stood  just  inside,  holding 
the  doors  open,  while  two  of  the  ranchmen  carried  in 
their  ominous,  silent  burden.  Doc  Crombie  was  the  last 
but  one  to  enter.  The  man  who  came  last  was  the  evil- 
minded  hardware  dealer.  His  eyes  were  sparkling,  and 
his  thin  lips  were  tightly  compressed.  Now  he  had  an 
added  score  to  pay  off.  Nor  was  he  particular  to  whom 
he  paid  it. 

The  body  of  the  murdered  man  was  laid  upon  the 
tables,  and  Silas  Rocket  provided  a  shroud. 

Jim  Thorpe  watched  these  proceedings  with  the 
keenest  interest.  Never  for  a  moment  did  he  remove 
his  eyes  from  the  dead  man,  until  the  dirty  white  table- 
cloth had  been  carelessly  thrown  over  him.  He  had  in 
his  mind  many  things  during  those  moments.  At  first 
he  had  looked  for  his  own  telltale  knife.  But  evidently 
it  had  been  removed.  There  was  no  sign  of  its  hideous 
projecting  handle  as  he  had  last  seen  it.  Neither  had  he 
noticed  any  one  bearing  his  blood-stained  handkerchiefs. 
He  thought  that  Doc  Crombie  had  possessed  himself  of 
these  things,  and  expected  he  would  produce  them  at  the 
proper  moment. 


358  The  One- Way  Trail 

Somehow  he  felt  a  curious  regret  that  Will  was  dead 
It  was  not  a  mawkish  sentimentality  ;  he  made  no  preten- 
sion, even  to  himself,  that  the  regard  that  had  once  been 
his  for  Will  still  existed.  But  he  was  sorry.  Sorry  that 
the  man's  road  had  carried  him  to  such  disaster.  He  re- 
membered Peter's  definition  of  the  one-way  trail.  Will's 
path  had  certainly  been  a  hard  one,  and  he  had  traveled 
every  inch  of  it  with — well,  he  had  traveled  it. 

Then  came  the  thought,  the  ironical  thought,  that  after 
all  their  paths  were  not  so  very  wide  apart  now.  They 
had  grown  up  together,  and  now,  at  the  end,  in  spite  of 
everything,  death  was  bringing  them  very  near  together 
again. 

But  his  reflections  were  cut  short  by  the  sharp  voice 
of  the  doctor.  His  authority  was  once  more  undisputed. 
He  stood  out  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  a  lean,  harsh 
figure.  His  eagle  face,  with  its  luminous  eyes,  was  full 
of  power,  full  of  a  stern  purpose. 

"  Folks,"  he  began,  "  murder  has  been  done — sheer, 
bloody  murder.  When  fellers  gits  busy  with  guns,  an' 
each  has  his  chance,  an'  one  of  'em  gits  it  bad,  we  call 
that  killing.  Fair,  square  killing,  an'  I  guess  we  treat  it 
accordin'.  But  this  is  low-down  murder.  We  was  told 
it  was  a  stabbing,  but  I've  cast  my  eyes  over  the  body, 
an'  I  seem  to  see  a  different  story.  Judging  by  what  I 
found,  I'd  say  Will  Henderson  was  hit  a  smashin'  blow 
by  something  heavy,  which  must  sure  'a'  knocked  him 
senseless,  an'  then  the  lousy  skunk  did  the  rest  of  his 
work  with  a  knife.  Gents,  I  allow  this  murder  was  the 
work  of  a  dirty,  cowardly,  mean-spirited  skunk  who 
hadn't  the  grit  to  face  his  enemy  decently  with  a  gunt 
and  who  doesn't  need  a  heap  of  mercy  when  we  get  him. 


The  Triumph  of  Smallbones  359 

That's  how  I  read  the  case.  All  of  you  have  seen  the 
body,  so  I  need  say  no  more  on  this." 

Then  he  turned  his  keen  eyes  on  Jim  Thorpe,  who  had 
listened  closely. 

"  You,  Jim  Thorpe,  brought  us  word  of  this  doing. 
An'  in  the  interests  of  justice  to  his  widow,  to  your  feller 
citizens,  your  duty's  clear.  You  got  to  tell  us  right 
here  everything  you  know  about  Will  Henderson's 
death." 

There  was  an  ominous  pause  when  the  doctor  finished 
speaking,  while  all  eyes  were  focused  upon  Jim's  face. 
There  was  no  doubt  but  that  the  majority  were  looking 
for  signs  of  that  guilt  which  in  their  hearts  they  believed 
to  be  his. 

But  they  were  doomed  to  disappointment.  They  cer- 
tainly saw  a  change  of  expression,  for  Jim  was  puzzled. 
Why  had  Doc  Crombie  not  produced  the  knife  and  the 
handkerchiefs  ?  But  perhaps  he  wanted  his  story  first, 
and  then  would  confront  him  with  the  evidence  against 
him.  Yet  his  manner  was  purely  judicial.  It  in  no  way 
suggested  that  he  possessed  damning  evidence. 

He  looked  fearlessly  around,  and  his  gaze  finally  settled 
upon  the  doctor's  face. 

"  I'm  puzzled,  Doc,"  he  said  quietly.  "  There's  cer- 
tainly something  I  can't  make  out.  I  told  you  all  I  had 
to  tell,"  he  went  on.  "  I  was  out  on  the  south  side  of 
that  bluff,  for  reasons  which  I  told  Anthony  Smallbones 
were  my  own  business,  when  I  found  Will  Henderson 
lying  dead  in  the  grass,  a  few  feet  from  some  bushes.  I 
did  not  at  first  realize  he  was  dead.  I  saw  the  wound  on 
his  jaw,  and,  touching  it,  discovered  the  bone  was  broken. 
Then  I  discovered  that  his  clothes  were  torn  open,  his 


360  The  One-Way  Trail 

chest  bare,  and  a  large  knife,  such  as  any  prairie  man 
carries  in  his  belt,  was  sticking  in  his  chest,  plunged  right 
up  to  the  hilt."  There  was  a  stir,  and  a  murmur  of  aston- 
ishment went  round  the  room.  "  Wait  a  moment,"  he 
continued,  holding  up  his  hand  for  silence.  "  I  discov- 
ered more  than  that.  I  found  two  handkerchiefs,  a  white 
one,  ripped  into  a  rough  bandage,  and  a  silk  neck  scarf, 
such  as  many  of  us  wear,  was  folded  up  into  a  sort  of 
pad.  Both  were  blood-stained,  and  looked  as  though 
they  had  been  used  as  bandages  for  his  face.  They  were 
lying  a  yard  away  from  the  body.  Have  you  got  those 
things,  because,  if  so,  they  ought  to  be  a  handsome  clue 
for  sure  ?  " 

But  by  the  expression  of  blank  astonishment,  even  in- 
credulity on  the  doctor's  face,  and  a  similar  response  from 
most  of  the  onlookers,  it  was  obvious  that  this  was  all 
news  to  them. 

Doc  shook  his  head. 

41  Ther'  was  no  knife — no  scarves.  But  say,"  he  asked 
sharply,  "  why  didn't  you  speak  of  'em  before  ?" 

"  It  didn't  occur  to  me.  I  thought  you'd  sure  find  'em. 
So —I  guess  they've  been  removed  since.  Probably  the 
murderer  thought  them  incriminating ' 

"  A  hell  of  a  fine  yarn."  It  was  Smallbones'  voice 
that  now  made  itself  heard.  "  Say,  don't  you'se  fel- 
lows see  his  drift  ?  It's  a  yarn  to  put  you  off,  an'  make 
you  think  the  murderer's  been  around  while  he's  been  in 
here.  Guess  him  an'  his  friend  Peter's  made  it  up  while 
I " 

44  After  I  threw  you  out  of  here,"  interjected  Peter 
coldly.  "  Keep  your  tongue  easy,  or  I'll  have  to  handle 
you  again." 


The  Triumph  of  Smallbones  36 1 

But  Smallbones'  fury  got  the  better  of  him,  and  he 
meant  to  annoy  Peter  all  he  could. 

"  Yes,  I  dessay  you  would.  But  you  can't  blind  us 
like  a  lot  of  gophers  with  a  dogone  child's  yarn  like  that. 
If  those  things  had  been  there  they'd  ha'  been  there  when 

Will  was  found  by  Doc Say,"  he  cried,  turning 

with  inspiration  upon  Jim,  "  wher's  your  knife?  You 
mostly  carry  one.  I  see  your  sheath,  but  ther'  ain't  no 
knife  in  it." 

He  pointed  at  the  back  of  Jim's  waist,  which  was 
turned  toward  him.  Every  eye  that  could  see  the  sheath 
followed  the  direction  of  the  accusing  ringer,  and  a  pro- 
found sensation  stirred  those  who  beheld.  The  sheath 
was  empty. 

Smallbones'  triumph  urged  him  on. 

"  Say,  an'  where's  your  neck-scarf?  You  allus  wear 
one,  sure.  An'  mebbe  you  ain't  got  your  dandy  white 
han'k'chief.  I  'lows  you're  'bout  the  on'y  man  in  these 
pnrts  'cep'  Abe  Horsley  as  fancies  hisself  enough  to  wear 
one.  Wher's  them  things,  I  ask  you?  Say,"  he  went 
on  after  a  moment's  pause,  during  which  Jim  still  re- 
mained silent,  "  I  accuse  this  lousy  skunk  publicly  of 
murderin'  Will  Henderson.  He's  convicted  hisself  out 
o'  his  own  mouth,  an'  he's  got  the  man's  blood  on  his 
hands.  Jim  Thorpe,  you  killed  Will  Henderson  !  " 

The  little  man's  fervor,  his  boldness,  his  shrewd  argu- 
ment carried  his  audience  with  him,  as  he  stood  pointing 
dramatically  at  the  accused  but  unflinching  man.  Doc 
Crombie  was  carried  along  with  the  rest  even  against  his 
own  judgment.  Peter  Blunt  and  Angel  Gay,  with  Jake 
Wilkes,  were  the  only  men  present  who  were  left  uncon- 
vinced. Peter's  eyes  were  sternly  fixed  on  the  beady 


362  The  One- Way  Trail 

eyes  of  Smallbones.  Gay,  too,  in  his  slow  way,  was 
furious.  But  Jake  would  not  have  believed  Jim  had 
committed  the  murder  even  if  he  had  seen  him  do  it,  he 
detested  Smallbones  so  much. 

But  everybody  was  waiting  for  Jim's  reply  to  the  chal- 
lenge. And  it  came  amidst  a  deathly  silence.  It  came 
with  a  straightforwardness  that  carried  conviction  to  three 
of  his  hearers  at  least,  and  set  the  redoubtable  doctor 
wondering  if  he  were  dreaming. 

"  You're  quite  right  I  usually  wear  all  those  things  you 
say,  but  I  haven't  got  them  with  me  now,  because"  — 
he  smiled  into  the  little  man's  eyes,  "  the  particular 
articles  I  spoke  of  were  all  mine,  and,  apparently,  now 
they've  been  stolen." 

"  Guilty,  by  Gad  !  "  roared  Smallbones. 

And  some  one  near  him  added  — 

"  Lynch  him  !     Lynch  him  !  " 

How  that  cry  might  have  been  taken  up  and  acted 
upon,  it  needs  little  imagination  to  guess.  But  quick 
as  thought  Doc  Crombie  came  to  Jim's  rescue.  He 
silenced  the  crowd  with  a  roar  like  some  infuriated  lion. 

"  The  first  man  that  moves  I'll  shoot ! "  he  cried,  be- 
hind the  brace  of  leveled  pistols  he  was  now  holding  at 
arm's  length. 

He  stood  for  a  few  seconds  thus  till  order  was  restored, 
then  he  quietly  returned  one  of  his  guns  to  its  holster, 
while  the  other  he  retained  in  his  hand.  He  turned  at 
once  to  Jim. 

"  You're  accused  of  the  murder  of  Will  Henderson  by 
Smallbones,"  he  said  simply.  "  You've  got  more  of  this 
story  back  of  your  head.  You've  now  got  your  chance 
of  ladlin'  it  out  to  clear  yourself.  You'd  best  speak. 


The  Triumph  of  Smallbones  363 

An'  the  quicker  the  better.  You  say  the  knife  that 
killed  him  was  yours.  Yes  ?" 

The  man's  honest  intention  was  obvious.  He  wanted 
to  give  Jim  a  chance.  He  was  doing  his  utmost.  But 
he  knew  the  temper  of  these  men,  and  he  knew  that  they 
were  not  to  be  played  with.  It  was  up  to  the  accused 
man  to  clear  himself. 

Peter  Blunt  anxiously  watched  Jim's  face.  There  was 
something  like  despair  in  his  honest  eyes.  But  he  could 
do  nothing  without  the  other's  help. 

Jim  looked  straight  into  the  doctor's  eyes.  There  was 
no  defiance  in  his  look,  neither  was  there  anything  of  the 
guilty  man  in  it.  It  was  simply  honest. 

"  I've  told  you  all  I  have  to  tell/'  he  said.  "  The  knife 
that  killed  Will  Henderson  was  my  knife.  But  I  swear 
before  God  that  I  am  innocent  of  his  death  ! " 

The  doctor  turned  from  him  with  an  oath.  And 
curiously  enough  his  oath  was  purely  at  the  man's 
obstinacy. 

"  Fellers,"  he  said,  addressing  the  assembly,  "  I've 
been  your  leader  for  a  goodish  bit,  an'  I  don't  guess  I'm 
goin'  back  on  you  now.  We  got  a  code  of  laws  right 
here  in  Barnriff  with  which  we  handle  sech  cases  as  this. 
Those  laws'll  take  their  course.  We'll  try  the  case  right 
here  an'  now.  You,  Smallbones,  will  establish  your 
case."  Then  he  turned  to  Jim.  "  If  there's  any  feller 
you'd  like " 

"  I'll  stand  by  Jim  Thorpe,"  cried  Peter  Blunt,  in  a 
voice  that  echoed  throughout  the  building. 

Doc  Crombie  nodded. 

"  Gentlemen,  the  court  is  open." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

AFTER   THE   VERDICT 

PETER  BLUNT  stared  helplessly  up  at  the  eastern  sky. 
His  brain  was  whirling,  and. he  stared  without  being  con- 
scious of  the  reason. 

He  breathed  heavily,  like  a  man  saturating  his  lungs 
with  pure  air  after  long  confinement  in  a  foul  atmosphere. 
Then  it  almost  seemed  as  if  his  great  frame  shrank  in 
stature,  and  became  suddenly  a  wreck  of  itself.  As  if 
age  and  decay  had  suddenly  come  upon  him.  As  if  the 
weight  of  his  body  had  become  too  heavy  for  him,  and 
set  his  great  limbs  tottering  under  it  as  he  walked. 

The  excitement,  the  straining  of  thought  and  nerve 
had  passed,  leaving  him  hopelessly  oppressed,  twenty 
years  older. 

The  din  and  clamor  of  the  final  scenes  in  the  saloon 
were  still  ringing  in  his  ears.  It  was  all  over.  The  farce 
of  Jim  Thorpe's  trial  had  been  played  out.  But  the 
shouts  of  men,  hungering  for  the  life  of  a  fellow  man,  still 
haunted  him.  The  voice  of  the  accuser  was  still  shriek- 
ing through  his  brain.  The  memory  of  the  stern  con- 
demnation of  Doc  Crombie  left  his  great  heart  crushed 
and  helpless. 

His  brain  was  still  whirling  with  all  the  strain  he  had 
gone  through,  his  pulses  were  still  hammering  with  the 
consuming  anger  which  had  raged  in  him  as  he  stood  be- 
side his  friend  defending  him  to  the  last.  And  it  had 


After  the  Verdict  365 

all  proved  useless.  Jim  Thorpe  had  been  condemned 
by  the  ballot  of  his  fellow  citizens.  Death — a  hideous, 
disgraceful  death  was  to  be  his,  at  the  moment  when  the 
gray  dawn  should  first  lift  the  eastern  corner  of  the  pall 
of  night. 

The  saloon  was  behind  Peter  now.  Its  lights  were  still 
burning.  For  the  condemned  man  was  to  remain  there 
with  his  guards  until  the  appointed  time. 

Peter  remembered  Jim's  look  when  he  finally  bade  him 
leave  him.  Could  he  ever  forget  it  ?  He  had  seen  death 
in  many  forms  in  his  time.  He  had  seen  many  men  face 
it,  each  in  his  own  way.  But  never  in  his  life  had  he 
seen  such  calmness,  such  apparent  indifference  as  Jim 
Thorpe  had  displayed. 

When  the  ballot  was  taken  and  the  doctor  pronounced 
sentence,  there  was  never  a  tremor  of  an  eyelid.  There 
was  not  even  one  quick-drawn  breath.  Nor  was  there  a 
suggestion  of  any  emotion — save  that  of  indifference. 

Then  when  the  doctor  had  named  the  manner  of  his 
death — a  rawhide  rope  on  the  bough  of  a  tree  Jim  had 
turned  with  a  smile  to  Peter. 

"  I'd  prefer  to  be  shot,"  he  said  quietly.  "  But  there, 
I  s'pose  ftiis  thing  must  proceed  by  custom." 

So  Jim  received  the  pronouncement  of  the  final  penalty 
for  a  crime  of  which  Peter  was  convinced  he  was  inno- 
cent. 

It  had  suddenly  set  his  loyal  heart  longing  with  a  mad, 
passionate  longing  to  have  his  great  hands  about  the 
mean  throat  of  the  man  Smallbones.  It  had  set  him 
wild  with  rebellion  against  the  merciless  customs  which 
permitted  such  an  outrage  upon  justice.  He  had  even 
challenged  the  doctor  in  his  fury,  on  his  right  to  admin- 


366  The  One- Way  Trail 

ister  justice  and  accept  the  condemnation  of  the  men 
gathered  there  for  the  purpose. 

In  his  desire  to  serve  his  friend  he  passed  beyond  the 
bounds  of  all  discretion,  of  all  safety  for  himself.  He 
threatened  that  he  would  move  the  whole  world  to  bring 
just  retribution  upon  those  who  had  participated  in  that 
night's  work.  And  his  threats  and  violence  had  been  re- 
ceived  with  a  tolerant  laughter.  A  derision  more  sting- 
ing and  ominous  than  the  most  furious  outbreak. 

The  work  would  go  on.  The  death  penalty  would  be 
carried  out.  He  knew  it.  He  knew  it. 

Then  when  it  was  all  over,  and  the  prisoner's  guards 
had  been  appointed,  Jim  had  begged  him  to  leave  him. 

"  Thanks,  Peter,  old  friend,"  he  said..  And  then  added 
with  a  whimsical  touch :  "  I'm  tired  to  death  of  hearing 
your  dear  old  voice.  You've  said  such  a  heap  to-night. 
Get  along.  I  don't  want  you  any  more.  You  see  you're 
too  big,  and  you  sure  take  up  too  much  room — in  my 
heart.  So  long." 

So  he  had  been  driven  from  his  friend's  side,  and  out 
into  the  blackest  night  he  had  ever  known. 

Yes,  it  was  an  old,  old  man  that  now  lurched  his  way 
across  the  market-place  toward  his  hut.  He  was  weary, 
so  weary  in  mind  and  spirit.  There  was  nothing  now  left 
for  him  to  do  but  to  go  home  and — and  sit  there  till  the 
dawn.  Was  there  no  hope,  none  ?  There  was  none. 
No  earthly  force  could  save  Jim  now.  It  wanted  less 
than  an  hour  to  dawn,  and,  between  now  and  then  - 

And  yet  he  believed  Jim  could  have  saved  himself. 
There  was  not  a  man  in  that  room,  from  Doc  Crombie 
downward,  but  knew  that  Jim  was  holding  back  some- 
thing. What  was  it  ?  And  why  did  he  not  speak  ? 


After  the  Verdict  367 

Peter  had  asked  him  while  the  farce  of  a  trial  was  at  its 
height.  He  had  begged  and  implored  him  to  speak  out, 
but  the  answer  he  received  was  the  same  as  had  been 
given  to  the  doctor.  Jim  had  told  all  he  had  to  tell.  Oh, 
the  whole  thing  was  madness — madness. 

But  there  was  no  madness  in  Jim,  he  admitted.  Once 
when  his  importunities  tried  him  Jim  had  shown  him  just 
one  brief  glimpse  of  the  heart  which  no  death  penalty 
had  the  power  to  reveal. 

Peter  remembered  his  words  now ;  they  would  live  in 
his  memory  to  his  dying  day. 

"  You  sure  make  me  angry,  Peter,"  he  had  said.  "  Even 
to  you,  old  friend,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  of  this  kill- 
ing than  I  have  said  to  Doc,  and  the  rest  of  'em.  I've 
done  many  a  fool  trick  in  my  time,  and  maybe  I'm  doing 
another  now.  But  I'm  doing  it  with  my  eyes  wide  open. 
There's  the  rope  ahead,  a  nasty,  ugly,  curly  rope ;  maybe 
plaited  by  a  half-breed  with  dirty  hands.  But  what's  the 
odds  ?  Perhaps  there's  a  stray  bit  of  comfort  in  that  rope, 
in  the  thought  of  it.  You  know  the  old  prairie  saw :  '  It 
isn't  always  the  sunniest  day  makes  the  best  picnic.1 
Which  means,  I  take  it,  choose  your  company  of  girls  and 
boys  well,  and,  rain  or  shine,  you'll  have  a  bully  time. 
Maybe  there's  a  deal  I  could  say  if  I  so  chose,  but,  in  the 
meantime,  I  kind  of  believe  there's  worse  things  in  the 
world  than — a  rawhide  rope." 

It  was  just  a  glimpse  of  the  man  behind  his  mask  of  in- 
difference, and  Peter  wondered. 

But  there  was  no  key  to  the  riddle  in  his  words,  no  key 
at  all.  Somehow,  in  a  vague  sort  of  way,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  Eve  Henderson  was  in  a  measure  the  influence 
behind  Jim.  But  he  coulcl  not  see  how.  He  was  well 


368  The  One-Way  Trail 

aware  of  Jim's  love  for  her,  and  he  believed  that  she  was 
less  indifferent  to  him  now  than  when  Will  had  been  run- 
ning straight.  But  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  see  no 
definite  connection  between  such  a  matter  and  the  mur- 
der. It  was  all  so  obscure — so  obscure. 

And  now  there  was  nothing  left  but  to  wait  for  the 
hideous  end.  He  lurched  into  his  hut,  and,  without  even 
troubling  to  light  his  lamp,  flung  himself  upon  his  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE   TRUTH 

THE  moment  Peter  Blunt  left  the  saloon,  a  lurking 
figure  stole  out  from  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  side  walls, 
where  it  had  been  standing  close  under  a  window,  listen- 
ing to  all  that  passed  within  the  building.  It  followed 
on  a  few  yards  behind  the  preoccupied  man  with  a  stealthy 
but  clumsy  gait.  Peter  heard  nothing  and  saw  nothing. 
His  mind  and  heart  were  too  full  to  care  in  the  least  for 
anything  that  was  going  on  about  him  now. 

So  it  was  that  Elia,  for  it  was  he,  laboriously  followed 
him  up  until  he  saw  the  man's  burly  figure  disappear  into 
his  hut.  Then  he  turned  away  with  something  of  relief, 
and  hobbled  in  the  direction  of  his  own  house.  He  had 
been  anxious  lest  Peter  should  be  on  his  way  to  carry  the 
news  to  Eve.  He  had  very  definite  reasons  for  wishing 
to  give  her  the  news  himself.  He  felt  that  Peter  was  too 
convinced  of  Jim's  innocence,  judging  by  his  defense  of 
him  in  the  saloon,  to  be  a  safe  person  to  carry  Eve  the 
news.  He  was  thinking  of  his  own  safety,  and  his  dis- 
torted mind  was  at  work  gauging  Peter  from  his  own 
standpoint.  He  felt  he  must  avoid  Peter  for  the  present. 
Peter  was  too  shrewd.  Peter  might — yes,  he  must  cer- 
tainly avoid  him  until  after — dawn.  Then  it  would  not 
matter. 

Sick  in  body  as  well  as  in  mind  after  the  evening's 
events,  the  low,  cruel  cunning  which  possessed  him  was 


370  The  One- Way  Trail 

still  hard  at  work  scheming  to  fulfil  both  his  vicious  de- 
sires and  to  hedge  himself  round  in  safety. 

This  was  the  first  time  he  had  been  near  home  since 
he  had  returned  from  the  bluff.  He  had  painfully  fol- 
lowed Jim  into  the  village  and  shadowed  him  down  to 
the  saloon.  He  was  in  an  extremity  of  terror  the  whole 
time,  from  the  moment  he  realized  Jim's  intention  to 
notify  the  villagers  of  what  had  happened  until  the  end 
of  the  trial,  when  he  heard  the  sentence  passed.  Then, 
curiously  enough,  his  terror  only  abated  the  slightest 
degree. 

But  he  was  very  sick,  nearly  dropping  with  fatigue  and 
bodily  suffering.  Something  was  wrong  in  his  chest,  and 
the  pain  of  it  was  excruciating.  There  were  moments 
when  the  shooting  pains  in  his  poor  curved  spine  set 
him  almost  shrieking.  Will's  blows  had  done  their  work 
on  his  weakly  frame,  and  it  felt  to  him  to  be  all  broken 
up. 

When  he  reached  his  sister's  gate,  he  stood  for  some 
moments  leaning  on  it  gasping  for  breath.  His  strength 
was  well-nigh  expended,  leaving  him  faint  and  dizzy. 
Slowly  his  breathing  eased,  and  he  glanced  at  the 
windows.  The  lamps  were  still  burning  inside.  Evidently 
Eve  was  waiting  for  something.  Had  she  heard  ?  He 
wondered.  Was  she  now  waiting  for  the  verdict  ?  Per- 
haps she  was  only  waiting  for  his  own  return. 

And  while  he  considered  a  flash  of  the  devil,  that  was 
always  busy  within  him,  stirred  once  more.  He  had 
come  to  tell  her  of  it  all.  And  the  thought  pleased  him. 
For  the  moment  he  forgot  something  of  his  bodily 
sufferings  in  the  joy  of  the  thought  of  the  pain  he  was 
about  to  inflict  upon  her.  He  groped  his  hand  in  his 


The  Truth  371 

jacket  pocket.  Yes,  they  were  all  there,  the  knife  and 
the  handkerchief  that  had  so  puzzled  the  doctor  and 
those  others. 

He  stealthily  opened  the  gate  and  walked  up  the  path. 
At  the  door  he  stood  listening.  Some  one  was  stirring 
within.  Hark  !  That  sounded  like  Eve  sobbing.  Now 
she  was  speaking.  Was  she  speaking  to  herself — or  to 
some  one  else  ?  He  listened  acutely.  He  could  only 
hear  the  murmur  of  her  voice.  There  was  no  other 
sound  within. 

Suddenly  he  drew  back  from  the  door.  He  heard  her 
footsteps  approaching.  Wondering  what  she  was  going 
to  do  he  withdrew  out  of  sight.  The  door  opened,  and 
Eve  stood  leaning  against  the  casing.  He  could  only 
see  her  outline  against  the  lamplight  behind  her,  for  her 
face  was  lost  in  the  shadow.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she 
was  staring  out  at  the  saloon.  Maybe  she  was  waiting 
till  the  lights  were  put  out,  and  so  she  would  know  the 
trial  was  over.  Maybe,  even,  she  was  contemplating  go- 
ing down  there  in  search  of  the  news  she  was  so  fear- 
fully awaiting.  These  suggestions  occurred  to  Elia,  for 
he  had  a  tremendously  shrewd  knowledge  of  his  sister, 
as  he  had  of  most  people  with  whom  he  came  into  con- 
tact. 

It  occurred  to  him  now  that  it  was  time  he  showed  him- 
self. The  grinding  pains  in  his  body  would  no  longer  be 
denied.  He  must  get  inside  and  rest. 

"  Sis,"  he  called  in  a  low  voice.     "  Ho,  sis  !  " 

The  woman  started  as  the  boy  hobbled  out  into  the 
light. 

"  EHa!  "  she  cried.  And  the  next  moment  she  would 
have  clasped  him  in  her  arms,  and  hugged  him  to  her 


372  The  One- Way  Trail 

bosom.  But  he  drew  back.  He  feared  her  embraces. 
Nor  was  he  in  the  mood  to  submit  to  them. 

"  Don't  be  a  fule,  sis.  I'm  tired — dog  tired.  I'm  sick, 
too.  I  believe  somethin's  broken  inside  me." 

He  pushed  her  on  one  side  and  hurried  into  the  room. 

"  Come  in  an'  shut  that  gol-durned  door,"  he  cried, 
without  turning,  as  he  made  his  way  to  the  rocking-chair. 
He  dropped  into  it,  his  face  contorting  hideously  with  the 
awful  pain  the  process  caused  him. 

But  the  spasm  passed  after  a  few  moments,  and  when 
he  looked  up  Eve  was  standing  before  him.  He  eyed 
her  silently  for  some  time.  He  was  wondering  just  how 
much  she  knew. 

There  was  little  doubt  in  his  mind  that  she  knew  a 
great  deal.  Horror  and  suffering  were  so  deeply  lined 
upon  her  young  face,  and  in  her  beautiful  eyes  was  such 
a  wild,  hunted  look,  that  there  was  very  little  doubt  in 
his  mind  that  she  knew  what  most  of  the  village  knew 
by  this  time.  But  she  didn't  know  all  he  knew,  not  by  a 
lot.  And  she  wasn't  going  to  know  it  all.  Only  some 
of  it.  She  was  suffering.  So  was  he — in  a  different  way. 
He  would  help  her  to  suffer  more  yet.  It  was  good  to 
see  other  folks  suffering. 

"  Who's  bin  here,  sis  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Only  Annie.  But,  Elia,  tell  me  you — you  didn't 
meet  Will?" 

The  boy  chuckled  without  any  visible  sign.  Even 
the  pain  of  his  body  could  not  rob  him  of  his  cruel  love 
of  inflicting  pain.  He  ignored  her  question  for  the 
moment. 

"Annie?"  he  responded.  "Did  she  tell  you,  sis? 
Did  she  tell  you  your  Will  was  dead?  Eh  ? "  He 


The  Truth  373 

3eaned  forward,  his  eyes  sparkling.  "  I'm  glad  —real 
glad.  He  was  sure  bad,  an'  no  use  to  you.  She  told 
you  ?" 

But  suddenly  the  poor  woman  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands,  as  though  to  shut  out  the  hideous  thoughts  his 
words  brought  back  to  her. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried,  "  I  know  he's  dead,  and  they're 
trying  Jim  for  it.  Oh,  God,  it's  awful !  They  say  he  did 
it.  But  he  didn't,  I  know  he  didn't.  He  only  said  he'd 
do  it  if  Will  had  killed  you.  He  didn't  kill  you,  so  Jim 
didn't  do  it.  He  wouldn't.  He  couldn't.  And  I  sent 
him  out  there  to  the  bluff.  And  if  they  hang  him  it's 
my  doing.  Ohr  Jim,  Jim !  "  She  fell  to  moaning  and 
rocking  herself  as  she  stood.  "  But  they  mustn't  kill 
him.  They  won't.  Will  they  ?  Say  they  won't,  Elia. 
Oh,  Jim,  Jim  !  I  want  you  so  badly.  I — I " 

"  You're  sweet  on  him,  sis  ?  "  Elia  said,  with  a  gleam 
of  fiendish  satisfaction  in  his  wonderful  eyes. 

"  I  sent  him,"  reiterated  the  woman,  ignoring  his  ques- 
tion, and  lost  in  her  own  misery.  "  Oh,  Jim,  Jim  !  " 

For  a  time  at  least  the  boy  had  quite  forgotten  his 
bodily  sufferings.  His  enjoyment  was  monstrous,  unholy. 

"  Say,  sis,"  he  went  on,  "  the  trial's  over.  I've  just 
come  from  there." 

Eve  looked  up,  startled.  Every  nerve  in  her  body 
was  quivering  with  a  sudden  tension. 

"  Yes,  yes  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  Yes,  it's  sure  over,"  the  boy  added,  prolonging  his 
sister's  agony. 

"Well?  They—they  acquitted  him?"  There  was 
something  absolutely  imploring  in  her  manner.  It  might 
well  have  moved  a  heart  of  stone. 


374  The  One- Way  Trail 

But  Elia's  heart,  if  he  possessed  such  an  organ,  bore  the 
brand  of  the  fiend.  He  nodded  first.  Then,  as  he  saw 
the  joy  leap  to  his  sister's  eyes  he  shook  his  head  vigor- 
ously, and  the  result  pleased  him. 

"  He's  got  to  die,"  he  said. 

The  woman  suddenly  reeled,  and  fell  on  her  knees  at 
the  table,  with  her  face  buried  on  her  outstretched  arms. 
Elia  watched  her  for  some  moments.  He  felt  that  here 
was  some  recompense  for  what  he  had  gone  through. 

"  You  was  kind  o'  sweet  on  him,  sis,"  he  said  presently. 
11  That's  why  I  tried  to  help  him  some.  I  kind  o'  like 
him,  too.  I  feel  sort  o'  queer  Jim's  goin'  to  get  hanged— 
hanged,  sis,  at  dawn."  He  paused,  but  beyond  the  rack- 
ing sobs  that  shook  the  woman's  frame  she  made  no 
movement.  "  I  sure  feel  queer  about  it,  tho'.  Y'see 
he  came  right  up  when  Will  had  nigh  kicked  the  life 
out  o'  me,  an*  he  hit  Will  a  smash  that  knocked  him 
cold.  Gee,  it  was  a  smash  !  Jim  hurt  Will  bad,  an'  it 
was  for  me.  Say,  that's  why  I  feel  queer  they're  goin' 
to — hang  him  at  dawn.  Somehow,  it  don't  seem  good 
stretchin'  Jim's  neck.  I  don't  seem  to  feel  I'd  like  to  see 
Jim  hurted.  Must  be  because  he  hurted  Will  fer  me. 
Will  'ud  V  killed  me,  sure,  but  fer  Jim." 

His  words  had  become  a  sort  of  soliloquy.  He  had 
forgotten  his  sister  for  the  moment.  But  now,  as  she 
looked  up,  he  remembered. 

"  You  tried  to — to  save  him  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  You 
told  them  what  Will  was  doing  ?  You  told  them  how — 
how  it  all  happened  ?  " 

The  boy  shook  his  head,  and  again  his  eyes  lit  with 
malice. 

"  I   ain't   been   inside   the   saloon.     I — I  was  scared. 


The  Truth  375 

Y'see  Will  wasn't  killed  by  the  blow  Jim  give  him.  Guess 
that  on'y  jest  knocked  him  out.  Y'see  he  was  killed  with 
Jim's  knife — after.  Y'see  Jim's  a  fule.  After  he'd  hit 
him  he  fixed  his  face  up  with  his  han'k'chiefs,  an'  after  he 
was  good  an'  dead  he  went  fer  to  leave  his  knife  stickin' 
in  his  chest.  That's  wher'  I  helped  him  some.  I  took 
that  knife  out — an'  them  rags.  Here  they  are,  right  here.' 

He  suddenly  produced  the  blood-stained  knife  and  the 
handkerchiefs,  and  held  them  out  toward  her.  But  the 
woman  shrank  away  from  them. 

"  I  guessed  if  I  took  'em  right  away  no  one  'ud  know 
how  he  come  by  his  death,  an'  who  did  it.  Y'see  Jim  had 
helped  me  some." 

But  Eve  was  not  heeding  the  explanation. 

"  Then  he  did  -kill  him  ?  "  Her  question  was  a  low, 
horrified  whisper. 

«  Ye— es." 

"  After  he  had — struck  him  senseless  ?  " 

"  Ye — yes." 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  You  are  lying  to  me,  Elia."  The 
woman's  voice  was  strident,  even  harsh. 

Elia  understood.  It  was  her  desire  to  convince  herself 
of  Jim's  innocence  that  set  her  accusing  him.  It  was 
not  that  she  really  disbelieved.  Had  it  been  otherwise 
he  would  have  been  afraid.  As  it  was  he  gloated  over 
her  suffering  instead. 

"  Yes,  he's  a  fule,  an'  he's  sure  got  to  hang,"  he  said 
mildly.  "  Guess  it'll  be  dawn  come  half  an  hour.  Then 
they're  goin'  to  take  him  right  out  ther'  wher'  he  killed 
your  Will — an'  hang  him.  Smallbones  is  goin'  out  to  find 
the  tree.  Say,  sis,  Smallbones  is  goin'  to  get  busy  pullin' 
the  rope.  I  wish  it  wa'n't  Jim,  sure  I  do.  I'd  sooner  it 


376  The  One- Way  Trail 

was  Peter,  on'y  he's  goin'  to  give  me  that  gold.  Guess  it 
wouldn't  matter  if " 

44  They  shan't  hang  him  !  I  don't  believe  it.  I  can't 
believe  it.  I  don't  believe  you.  Oh,  God,  this  is  awful ! 
Elia,  say  it  isn't  so  ;  say  you  are  only 

44  Don't  be  a  fule,  sis,"  the  boy  cried,  brutally.  "  Guess 
if  you  can't  b'lieve  me  go  an'  ast  Peter.  He's  in  his  hut. 
He  helped  defend  Jim,  an'  said  a  heap  o'  fule  things 
'bout  gettin'  the  law  on  Doc.  Ast  him  if  you  don't 
b'lieve  me." 

But  whereas  he  had  only  intended  to  force  her  belief 
by  his  challenge,  Eve  took  him  literally.  She  snatched 
at  his  words,  and  he  suddenly  became  afraid.  She  picked 
up  the  knife  and  the  rags,  which  before  she  had  refused 
to  touch,  and  grasped  him  by  one  wrist. 

"  Yes,  yes,  we'll  go  over  to  Peter,  and  I'll  have  the  truth 
from  him.  I  can't  trust  you,  Eiia.  You  were  there  when 
Will  was  murdered  ;  you've  been  down  to  the  saloon,  out- 
side it.  You  must  have  seen  the  killing,  and  you've  not 
said  one  word  in  his  defense,  not  one  word  as  to  the  reason 
of  Will's  death.  Jim  did  it  in  your  defense,  and  you're 
letting  him  hang  without  a  word  to  help  him.  You  shall 
tell  Peter  what  you've  told  me,  and  maybe  it  isn't  too  late 
to  do  something  yet.  Come  along." 

But  the  boy  tried  to  drag  free.  His  guilty  conscience 
made  him  fear  Peter,  and  in  a  frenzy  he  struggled  to  re- 
lease himself. 

But  Eve  was  no  longer  the  gentle,  indulgent  woman 
he  had  always  known.  She  was  fighting  for  a  life  per- 
haps dearer  to  her  than  Elia's.  She  saw  a  barely  pos- 
sible chance  that  through  Elia  she  might  yet  save  Jim. 
Will's  brutal  attack  upon  a  cripple  had  met  with  perhaps 


The  Truth  377 

something  more  than  its  deserts,  but  these  men  were 
men,  and  maybe  the  extenuation  of  the  provocation 
might  at  least  save  Jim  the  rope. 

Elia  quickly  gave  up  the  struggle.  His  bodily  hurts 
had  robbed  him  of  what  little  physical  strength  he  pos- 
sessed at  the  best  of  times ;  and  Eve,  for  all  her  slight- 
ness,  was  by  no  means  a  weak  woman.  She  literally 
forced  him  to  go,  half  dragging  him,  and  never  for  a  mo- 
ment relaxing  her  hold  upon  him. 

And  so  they  came  to  Peter's  hut.  She  knocked  loudly 
at  the  door,  and  called  to  him,  fearing,  because  she 
saw  no  light,  that  the  man  had  gone  out  again.  But 
Peter  was  there,  and  his  astonished  voice  answered  her 
summons  at  once. 

"  Eve?"  he  cried,  in  something  like  consternation,  for 
he  was  thinking  of  the  news  he  must  now  give  her. 
Then  he  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"  Quick,  light  a  lamp,"  the  woman  cried.  "  Elia  has 
told  me  all  about  it.  He  says  Jim  is  to  die  at — dawn." 
She  glanced  involuntarily  at  the  eastern  horizon,  and  to 
her  horror  beheld  the  first  pale  reflection  of  morning 
light,  hovering,  an  almost  milky  lightening,  where  all  else 
was  still  jet  black. 

Peter  had  no  words  with  which  to  answer  her.  He 
had  dreaded  seeing  her,  and  now — she  knew.  He  lit  the 
lamp,  and  Eve  dragged  the  unwilling  boy  in  with  her ; 
and  as  she  passed  him  over  to  Peter's  bed  he  fell  back  on 
it  groaning. 

"  Peter,"  she  cried  now,  speaking  with  a  rush,  since 
dawn  was  so  near.  "  Can't  something  be  done?  Surely, 
surely,  there  is  extenuation !  He  did  it  all  to  defend 
Elia.  Will  was  killing  him  out  there  at  the  bluff.  Look 


378  The  One- Way  Trail 

at  him  !  Can't  you  see  his  suffering?  That's  why  Jim 
killed  him.  Eh'a's  just  told  me  so.  He  even  took  these 
things  from — from  the  body  after — thinking  it  might 
save  Jim.  He  brought  them  to  me  just  now;  and  he 
says  he's  been  down  at  the  saloon,  and  never  said  a  word 
to  help  Jim.  He  said  he  was  frightened  to  go  in.  Did 
Jim  tell  them  it  was  to  save  Elia  ?  Oh,  surely  they  can 
be  made  to  understand  it  was  not  wilfuj — wilful  murder ! 
They  can't  hang  him.  It's — it's — horrible !  " 

But  as  the  astonished  Peter  listened  to  her  words,  words 
which  told  him  a  side  of  the  story  he  had  never  even 
dreamed  of  before,  his  eyes  drifted  and  fixed  themselves 
on  the  now  ghastly  face  of  the  boy.  He  compelled  the 
terror-stricken  eyes  and  held  them  with  his  own.  And 
when  Eve  ceased  speaking  he  answered  her  without  turn- 
ing. He  was  reading,  reading  through  the  insane  mind 
of  the  boy,  right  down  into  his  very  soul.  In  the  long  days 
he  had  had  Elia  working  with  him  he  had  studied  him 
closely.  And  he  had  learned  the  twists  and  warps  of  his 
nature  as  no  one  else  understood  them. 

"  Jim  said  nothing  at  all ! "  Peter  said  slowly. 

"  Nothing?  What  do  you  mean  ?  He — he  must  have 
told  them  of— of  Elia  ?  " 

Suddenly  Peter's  eyes  shot  in  the  direction  of  the 
door.  A  faint,  distant  sound  reached  them.  It  was  a 
sound  of  bustle  from  the  direction  of  the  saloon.  Eve 
heard  too.  They  both  understood. 

"  Oh,  God !  "  she  cried. 

But  Peter's  eyes  were  on  Elia's  face  once  more.  They 
were  stern,  and  a  curious  light  was  in  them. 

"  I  seem  to  see  it  now,"  he  said  slowly.  "  Jim  denied 
his  guilt  because  he  was  innocent.  But  he  admitted 


The  Truth  379 

that  the  knife  which  killed  Will  was  his,  although  no 
knife  was  found.  He  spoke  the  truth  the  whole  time. 
He  would  not  stoop  to  a  lie,  because  he  was  innocent. 
Eve,  that  man  was  shielding  the  real  culprit.  Do  you 
know  any  one  that  Jim  would  be  likely  to  give  his  life 
for?  I  do."  Suddenly  he  swung  round  on  Elia,  andf 
with  an  arm  outstretched,  and  a  great  finger  pointing, 
he  cried,  "  Why  did  you  kill  Will  Henderson  ?  " 

Inspiration  had  come.  A  great  light  of  hope  shone 
in  his  eyes.  His  demand  was  irresistible  to  the  suffer- 
ing, demented  boy.  Elia's  eyes  gleamed  with  a  sudden 
cruel  frenzy.  There  was  the  light  of  madness  in  them,  a 
vicious,  furious  madness  in  them.  Hatred  of  Will  surged 
through  his  fevered  brain,  a  furious  triumph  at  the 
thought  of  having  paid  Will  for  all  his  cruelties  to  him 
swept  away  any  guilty  fears  as  he  blurted  out  his  reply. 

"  Because  I  hate  him.  Because  he's  kicked  me  till  I'm 
nigh  dead.  Because — I — I  hate  him." 

It  was  a  tremendous  moment,  and  fraught  with  such  pos- 
sibilities as  a  few  minutes  ago  would  have  seemed  impos- 
sible. There  was  a  silence  of  horror  in  the  room.  The 
shock  had  left  Eve  staggered.  Peter  was  calculating 
what  seemed  almost  impossible  chances.  Elia — Elia  was 
in  the  agonies  of  realizing  what  he  had  done,  and  battling 
with  an  overwhelming  physical  weakness. 

The  sounds  of  commotion  at  the  saloon  were  more 
decided.  There  was  the  ominous  galloping  of  horses, 
and  the  rattle  of  the  wheels  of  a  buckboard.  Peter 
glanced  at  the  window.  The  sky  outside  was  lightening. 
Suddenly  he  shivered. 

"You  killed  him.  How?  How?"  His  voice  was 
tense  and  harsh,  though  he  strove  to  soften  it. 


380  The  One- Way  Trail 

But  Elia  had  turned  sullen.  A  fierce  resentment  held 
him  silent,  resentment  and  fear. 

And  in  that  moment  of  waiting  for  his  answer  Peter 
heard  again  the  movements  of  the  cavalcade  at  the  sa- 
loon. It  seemed  to  be  under  way  for — the  bluff. 

Now  he  leaned  toward  the  boy,  and  his  great  honest 
brow  was  sweating  with  apprehension. 

"  Elia,"  he  said.  "  If  I  go  and  tell  them  they'll  hang 
you,  too.  Do  you  understand  ?  I'm  not  going  to  bluff 
you.  This  is  just  fact.  They'll  hang  you  if  I  tell  them. 
And  I'm  going  to  tell  them,  sure,  i'f  you  don't  do  as  I  say. 
If  you  do  as  I  say  they  won't  touch  you.  You've  got  to 
come  along  with  me  and  tell  them  you  killed  Will,  and 
just  why.  They're  men,  those  fellers,  and  they'll  be  real 
sorry  for  you.  You've  got  to  tell  the  whole  truth  just  as 
it  happened,  and  I  give  you  my  word  they  won't  touch 
you.  You'll  save  Jim's  life.  Jim  who  was  always  good 
to  you.  Jim  who  went  out  to  the  bluff  to  save  you  from 
Will.  You  needn't  to  be  scared,"  as  signs  of  fresh  terror 
broke  out  upon  the  boy's  face,  "  you  needn't  to  be  scared 
any.  I'll  be  there  with  you  — 

"  And  so  will  I,"  cried  Eve,  her  eyes  suddenly  lighting 
with  hope. 

"  Will  you  come,  boy  ?  You'll  save  Jim,  who  never  did 
you  anything  but  good.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

But  there  was  no  answer. 

"  Say,  laddie,"  Peter  went  on,  his  eyes  straining  with 
fear,  "  they're  moving  now.  Can  you  hear  them  ?  That's 
the  men  who're  taking  Jim  out  to  kill  him — and  when 
they've  killed  him  they'll  kill  you,  because  I  shall  tell 
tiiem  'bout  you.  Will  you  help  us  save  Jim — Jim 
was  always  good  to  you,  or  will  you  let  them  kill 


The  Truth  381 

him — an'  then  you  ?  Hark,  they're  crossing  toward  us 
now  Soon,  and  they'll  be  gone,  and  then  it'll  be  too 
late.  They'll  then  have  to  come  back  for  you,  and — you 
won't  be  able  to  get  that  gold  I  promised  you." 

Eve  sat  breathlessly  watching.  Peter's  steady  persist- 
ence was  something  to  marvel  at.  She  wanted  to  shriek 
out  and  seize  the  suffering  cripple,  and  shake  what  little 
life  there  yet  remained  out  of  him.  The  suspense  was 
dreadful.  She  looked  for  a  sign  of  the  lightening  of  that 
cloud  of  horror  and  suffering  on  the  boy's  face.  She 
looked  for  that  sign  of  yielding  they  both  hoped  and 
prayed  for. 

But  Peter  went  on,  and  it  seemed  to  the  woman  he 
must  win  out. 

11  Come,  speak  up,  laddie,"  he  said  gently.  "  Play  the 
man.  They  shan't  hurt  you,  I  swear  it.  Ther's  all  that 
gold  waiting.  You've  seen  it  on  the  reef  in  the  cutting, 
right  here  in  Barnriff.  It's  yours  when  you've  done  this 
thing,  but  you  won't  be  here  to  get  it  if  you  don't.  Will 
you  come  ?  " 

"  They  won't — won't  hang  me  ?  "  the  boy  whispered,  in 
dreadful  fear. 

The  death  party  were  quite  near  now.  Peter  heard 
them.  He  felt  that  they  were  nearly  across  the  market- 
place. He  glanced  out  of  the  window.  Yes,  there  they 
were.  Jim  was  sitting  in  the  buckboard  beside  Doc 
Crombie.  The  rest  of  the  crowd  were  in  the  saddle. 

"  I  swear  it,  laddie,"  he  cried  in  a  fear. 

"  An' — an' — you  got  that  gold  ?  "  The  boy's  face  was 
suddenly  contorted  with  fierce  bodily  pain. 

"  Yes,  yes,  and  it's  yours  when  we  come  back." 

Another  glance  showed  the  hanging  party  on  the  out- 


382  The  One-Way  Trail 

skirts  of  the  village.  They  were  passing  slowly.  Peter 
knew  they  would  travel  faster  when  the  last  house  was 
passed.  Eve  saw  them,  too,  and  her  hands  writhed  in 
silent  agony  as  they  clasped  each  other  in  her  lap.  She 
turned  again  to  stare  helplessly  at  Elia.  She  must  leave 
him  to  Peter.  Instinctively  she  knew  that  one  word  from 
her  might  spoil  all. 

"  Wher'  are  they  now  ?  "  asked  the  boy,  his  ghastly 
face  cold  as  marble  after  his  seizure  of  pain. 

"  They're  gettin'  out  of  the  village.  We'll  be  too  late 
in  a  minute." 

Then  of  a  sudden  the  boy  cried  out.  His  voice  was 
shrill  with  a  desperate  fear,  but  there  was  a  note  of  de- 
termination in  it. 

"  I'll  tell  'em— I'll  tell  'em.  Come  on,  I  ken  walk.  But 
it's  only  for  Jim,  an' — an1  I  don't  want  that  gold."  And 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life  Eve  saw  the  boy's  eyes  flood 
with  tears,  which  promptly  streamed  down  his  ghastly 
cheeks. 

Peter's  eyes  glowed.  There  was  just  time,  he  be- 
lieved. But  he  was  thinking  of  the  boy.  At  last — at 
last.  It  was  for  Jim  Elia  was  doing  it.  For  Jim,  and 
not  for  the  gold.  He  had  delved  and  delved  until  at  last 
he  had  struck  the  real  color,  where  the  soil  had  long  been 
given  up  as  barren. 

"  Come,  laddie."  He  stepped  up  to  the  boy  with  a 
great  kindness,  and,  stretching  out  his  herculean  arms, 
he  lifted  him  bodily  from  the  bed.  "  You  can't  walk, 
you're  too  ill.  I'll  jest  carry  you." 

And  he  bore  him  out  of  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GALLOWS  TRME 

THE  creak  of  a  saddle ;  the  shuffling  and  rustle  of 
horses  moving  at  a  walk  through  the  long  prairie  grass  ; 
the  sudden  jolt  of  a  wheel  as  it  dropped  from  a  tufty  wad 
to  the  barren  sand  intersecting  the  clumps  of  grass  of  which 
the  prairie  is  largely  made  up ;  the  half-hearted  neigh  of 
a  horse,  as  though  it  were  striving  to  break  from  under 
the  spell  of  gloomy  depression  which  seemed  to  weigh 
heavily  upon  the  very  atmosphere ;  these  were  the  only 
sounds  which  broke  the  gray  stillness  of  dawn. 

No  one  seemed  to  have  words  to  offer.  No  one  seemed 
to  have  sufficient  lightness  even  to  smoke  a  morning  pipe. 
There  were  few  amongst  those  riding  out  from  Barnriff 
who  would  not  far  sooner  have  remained  in  their  beds, 
amidst  the  easy  dreams  of  healthy,  tired  nature,  now  that 
the  last  moments  of  a  man's  life  were  at  hand.  There 
were  few,  now  that  the  heat  and  excitement  of  accusation 
were  past,  but  would  far  rather  have  had  the  easy  thought 
that  they  had  been  on  the  other  side  of  the  ballot.  But 
this  was  mere  human  sentimentality  at  the  thought  of 
the  passing  of  one  man's  life.  This  thing  was  necessary, 
necessary  for  example  and  precept.  A  man  had  slain 
another.  He  was  guilty ;  he  must  die.  The  argument 
was  as  old  as  the  world. 

Yet  life  is  very  precious.  It  is  so  precious  that  these 
men  could  not  rid  themselves  of  the  haunting  ghost  of 
self-consciousness.  They  placed  themselves  in  the  po- 


384  The  One- Way  Trail 

sition  of  the  condemned,  and  at  once  depression  wrapped 
them  in  its  pall,  and,  shrinking  within  themselves,  all 
buoyancy  left  them.  A  man  had  to  die,  and  each  man 
felt  he  was  instrumental  in  wresting  from  him  that  which 
of  all  the  world  must  be  most  prized.  And  in  many  the 
thought  was  painful. 

The  gray  world  looked  grayer  for  their  mission.  The 
daylight  seemed  to  grow  far  more  slowly  than  was  its 
wont.  Where  was  the  ruddy  splendor  of  the  day's 
awakening,  where  the  glory  of  dawning  hope  ?  Lost, 
lost.  For  the  minds  of  these  men  could  not  grasp  that 
which  lay  beyond  the  object  of  their  journey. 

The  long-drawn  howl  of  the  prairie  scavenger  broke 
the  stillness.  It  was  answered  by  its  kind.  It  was  a 
fitting  chorus  for  the  situation.  But  ears  were  deaf  to 
such  things,  for  they  were  too  closely  in  harmony  with 
the  doings  of  the  moment.  The  gray  owls  fluttered  by, 
weary  with  their  night's  vigil,  but  with  appetites  amply 
satisfied  after  the  long  chase,  seeking  their  daylight  re- 
pose in  sparse  and  distant  woodland  hidings.  But  there 
were  no  eyes  for  them.  Eyes  were  on  the  distant  bluff 
to  the  exclusion  of  all  else. 

Six  men  rode  ahead  of  the  buckboard.  Smallbones 
was  on  the  lead.  It  was  his  place,  and  he  triumphantly 
held  it.  His  was  the  office.  Jim  Thorpe  had  reached 
the  end  of  the  one-way  trail.  And  it  was  his  to  speed 
him  on — beyond.  The  rope  hung  coiled  over  the  horn 
of  his  saddle.  It  was  a  good  rope,  a  strong,  well-seasoned 
rope.  He  had  seen  to  that,  for  he  had  selected  it  him- 
self from  a  number  of  others.  The  men  with  him  were 
those  who  would  act  under  his  orders,  men  whose  senses 
were  quite  deadened  to  the  finer  emotions  of  life. 


In  the  Shadow  of  the  Gallows  Tree        385 

Ihose  behind  the  buckboard  were  there  to  witness  the 
idministration  of  the  sentence  passed  upon  the  prisoner  by 
lis  fellow  townsmen. 

Doc  Cronibie  drove  the  buckboard.  And  he  watched 
he  condemned  man  beside  him  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye. 
i  m's  attitude  gave  him  relief,  but  it  made  him  feel 
•egret. 

They  had  passed  the  limits  of  the  village  when  his 
)risoner  suddenly  pointed  with  his  bound  hands  at  a  pile 
>f  soil  rising  amidst  the  level  of  the  prairie  grass. 

"  Peter  Blunt's  cutting,"  he  said,  with  curious  interest. 
'  He's  tracked  the  gold  ledge  from  the  head  waters  down 
:o  here."  His  tone  was  half  musing.  It  almost  seemed 
is  though  he  had  no  concern  with  the  object  of  their 
ourney. 

"  Peter's  crazy  on  that  gold,"  said  the  doctor.  "  He 
guesses  too  much." 

Jim  shook  his  head.  And  for  some  moments  there 
vas  silence.  Finally  his  answer  came  with  a  smile  of 
anderstanding. 

"  He's  not  crazy.  You  fellers  are  all  wrong.  Peter's 
lot  the  gold  all  right." 

"  He's  welcome,  sure." 

The  doctor  had  no  sympathy  with  any  gold  find  at  that 
noment,  and  presently  he  looked  round  at  his  prisoner. 
Fhe  man's  indifference  almost  staggered  him.  He  chewed 
lis  wad  of  tobacco  viciously.  At  that  moment  he  hated 
limself,  he  hated  Jim,  he  hated  everybody — but  most  of 
ill  he  hated  Smallbones. 

After  a  while  he  spoke,  and  though  his  manner  was 
iharp  he  meant  kindly  — 

M  You  ain't  told  what,  I'm  guessin',  you  could  tell,  Jim," 


386  The  One-Way  Trail 

he  said.  Then  he  added  significantly,  "  We've  nigh  a 
mile  to  go." 

But  Jim  was  gazing  out  at  the  great  arc  of  rosy  light 
growing  in  the  eastern  sky,  and  the  doctor  stirred  im- 
patiently. At  last  the  condemned  man  turned  to  him 
with  a  grave  smile  — 

"  Guess  there's  nothing  so  beautiful  in  nature  as  a  per- 
fect summer  dawn,"  he  said.  "  It  makes  a  man  feel 
strong,  and — good.  I'm  glad  it's  dawn,"  he  added,  with 
a  sigh. 

The  doctor  spat  out  his  tobacco,  and  his  lean  hands 
clenched  tight  on  the  reins. 

"  Maybe  it  makes  you  fool-headed,  too." 

"  Maybe  it  does,"  Jim  agreed,  thoughtfully.  "  Maybe 
it's  good  to  be  fool-headed  once  in  a  while.  The  fool's 
generally  a  happy  man."  Then  his  eyes  looked  away  in 
the  direction  of  Peter's  cutting.  "  And  happiness,  like 
Peter's  gold,  takes  a  heap  of  finding,"  he  continued  a 
moment  later.  "  Guess  the  wiser  you  are  the  harder 
things  hit  you.  And  as  you  grow  older  it's  so  easy  to 
be  wise,  and  so  hard  to  be  fool-headed.  That  bluff  we're 
riding  to.  Maybe  it's  foolish  me  riding  to  it.  That's 
what  you're  thinking — because  you're  wise.  It  makes 
me  glad  I'm  fool-headed." 

The  doctor  unnecessarily  slashed  the  horses  with  his 
whip.  But  he  was  careful  not  to  increase  the  pace. 

Jim  went  on  after  a  moment's  pause,  while  he  watched 
the  hawk-like  mould  of  his  corhpanion's  profile. 

"  Peter's  a  good  friend,"  he  said.  "  Last  night,  if  I'd 
said  the  word,  he'd  have  fought  for  me.  He'd  have  fought 
for  me  till  the  boys  shot  him  down  in  his  tracks.  And 
he'd  have  thought  no  more  of  giving  his  life  for  me  than 


In  the  Shadow  of  the  Gallows  Tree        387 

— than  Smallbones  would  think  of  taking  mine.  And 
some  of  the  gold  he's  looking  for  would — have  come  his 
way." 

The  doctor  looked  round  sharply.  He  began  to  wonder 
if  Jim  were  getting  light-headed. 

"  You're  talkin'  foolish,"  he  said. 

But  the  other  shook  his  head. 

"  You  see,  I  don't  guess  you  know  Peter  as  I  do — now. 
I  didn't  quite  know  him — before.  I  do  now.  Life's  so 
mighty  full  of — well,  the  things  we  don't  want,  that  it's 
well  to  get  out  and  look  for  something  that  don't  seem 
to  be  lying  around.  And  every  time  you  find  one  of 
those  things,  it  seems  to  set  the  things  life  wants  you  to 
have  farther  and  farther  away.  That's  what  Peter's  do- 
ing." He  smiled  ever  so  gently.  "  He's  looking  for 
what  he  calls  gold.  Guess  I'll  find  some  of  Peter's  gold 
— in  yonder  bluff." 

The  doctor's  eyes  were  staring  out  at  their  destination. 
He  had  no  answer.  He  caught  something  of  Jim's  mean- 
ing, but  his  hard  mind  had  not  the  proper  power  of 
assimilation. 

"  If  that  bluff  was  a  thousand  miles  off,  Doc,  I  still 
shouldn't  have  anything  in  my  fool-head  to  tell.  Seems 
to  me  a  bit  chilly.  Couldn't  we  drive  faster  ?  " 

"  No.     By  Gad,  we  couldn't !  " 

The  driver's  words  came  with  a  sudden  outburst  of 
passion.  If  half  the  silent  curses  he  was  hurling  at  the 
lead  of  the  venomous  Smallbones  at  that  moment  took 
effect,  the  man  would  surely  have  then  and  there  been 
slotted  out  of  the  history  of  Barnriff. 

Jim  had  no  more  to  say,  and  the  other  had  no 
3ower  to  frame  the  thoughts  which  filled  his  mind. 


388  The  One-Way  Trail 

And  so  a  silence  fell  upon  them  as  they  approached  the 
woods. 

Through  the  perfect  fretwork  of  the  upper  branches 
the  eastern  light  shone  cold  and  pure ;  in  the  lower 
depths  the  gray  gloom  had  not  yet  lifted.  The  dark 
aisles  between  the  trees  offered  a  gloomy  welcome. 
They  suggested  just  such  an  ending  as  was  intended  for 
their  journey. 

The  leaders  had  passed  round  the  southern  limits,  and 
were  no  longer  in  view.  The  doctor  headed  his  horses 
upon  their  course.  Something  of  the  eagle  light  had 
gone  out  of  his  eyes.  He  stared  just  ahead  of  his  horses, 
but  no  farther.  As  they  came  to  the  bend,  where  Barn- 
riff  would  be  shut  off  from  their  view,  Jim  turned  in  his 
seat,  and  who  can  tell  what  was  in  his  mind  at  the  mo- 
ment? He  knew  it  was  his  last  glimpse  of  the  place, 
which  for  him  had  held  so  many  disappointments,  so 
many  heartaches.  Yet — he  wanted  to  see  it. 

But  his  eyes  never  reached  the  village.  They  en- 
countered two  objects  upon  the  prairie,  and  fastened 
themselves  upon  them,  startled,  even  horrified.  A  large 
man  was  running,  bearing  in  his  arms  a  strange  burden, 
and  behind  him,  trailing  wearily,  but  still  running,  was  a 
woman.  He  could  have  cried  out  at  the  sight,  and  his 
cry  would  have  been  one  of  horror.  Instead,  he  turned 
to  his  companion. 

"  No  reasonable  request  is  denied  a — dying  man, 
Doc,"  he  said,  eagerly.  "  Drive  faster." 

Without  a  word  the  other  touched  his  horses  with  the 
whip,  and  they  broke  from  their  amble  into  a  brisk  trot. 

In  half  a  minute  they  drew  up  in  the  shadow  of  a 
great  overhanging  tree. 


In  the  Shadow  of  the  Gallows  Tree        389 

Jim  was  promptly  assisted  to  the  ground  by  the  wait- 
ing  men,  for  he  was  bound  hand  and  foot.  Now  his 
bonds  were  removed,  and  immediately  he  stepped  for- 
ward to  where  Smallbones  had  just  succeeded  in  throw- 
ing his  rope  into  position  overhead,  and  was  testing  it 
with  his  own  weight. 

As  the  prisoner  came  up  he  turned,  and  a  malicious 
sparkle  shone  in  his  eyes  as  he  confronted  the  calm 
face. 

"  It'll  bear  my  weight  ?  "  Jim  inquired,  coldly.  "  It 
wouldn't  be  pleasant  to  go  through  it  twice."  He 
glanced  up  at  the  tree  as  though  interested. 

"  It's  built  fer  ropin'  '  outlaws,'  "  Smallbones  grinned. 
"  I  sure  don't  guess  a  low-down  skunk  of  a  murder- 
er'll " 

But  the  man  never  finished  his  sentence.  Doc  Crom- 
bie  had  him  by  the  throat  in  a  clutch  that  threatened  to 
add  another  and  more  welcome  crime  to  the  records. 

"  Another  word  from  your  lousy  tongue  an'  I'll  strangle 
you  !  "  roared  the  doctor,  venting  at  last  all  the  pent-up 
wrath  gathered  on  the  journey  out. 

But  Jim  was  impatient.  He  remembered  those  two 
toiling  figures  behind. 

"  Let  up,  Doc,"  he  said  sharply.  "  His  words  don't 
hurt.  Let's  finish  things." 

The  doctor's  hand  fell  from  the  man's  throat  and  he 
drew  back. 

"  Fix  the  ropes,"  he  said  shortly. 

In  silence  four  of  the  men  advanced,  while  the  evil 
eyes  of  Smallbones  savagely  glowered  at  the  doctor.  In 
a  few  moments  Jim's  arms  were  pinioned,  and  his  ankles 
bound  fast.  Then  the  rope  was  loosely  thrown  about 


390  The  One- Way  Trail 

his  neck.  And  after  that  a  man  advanced  with  a  large 
silk  handkerchief,  already  folded,  and  with  which  to 
blindfold  him. 

But  suddenly  the  doctor  bethought  him  of  something. 

"  Wait ! "  he  cried.  Then  he  addressed  himself  di- 
rectly to  the  condemned  man.  "  Jim  Thorpe,  you  sure 
got  friends  present.  You  sure  got  friends  ready  to  hear 
anything  you  got  to  tell.  You're  goin'  out  o'  this  world 
right  now,  actin'  a  lie  if  not  speakin'  one.  Ther'  are 
folks  among  us  dead  sure,  or  I  wouldn't  say  it.  Mebbe 
you  ain't  thought  that  if  this  thing  is  done,  an'  what  I 
suspicion  is  true,  you're  makin'  murderers  of  us  all — an'  in 
pertickler  Smallbones.  Say,  you  got  your  chance. 
Speak." 

The  men  round  the  tree  stood  hushed  in  awe,  waiting. 
There  was  not  a  sound  to  break  the  stillness  except  the 
soft  rustle  of  the  trees  in  the  morning  breeze. 

"  I  have  told  you  all,  I  am  innocent,"  Jim  said  firmly. 
Then  he  shrugged.  "  Guess  you  must  take  your  own 
chances  what  you  are  when  this  is  done.  We  don't  need 
to  wait  any  longer." 

For  answer  the  doctor  signed  to  the  man  with  the 
handkerchief.  The  prisoner's  face  was  pale,  but  his  eyes 
were  steady  and  his  lips  firm.  There  was  no  weakness 
in  him,  and  the  wondering  crowd  were  troubled.  Most 
of  them  had  seen  hangings  in  their  time,  but  they  had 
never  seen  a  man  face  death  in  cold  blood  quite  like 
this. 

Suddenly,  while  the  bandage  was  being  secured,  one 
of  the  younger  men  in  the  front  rank  threw  up  his  arm 
as  though  to  ward  off  a  blow.  He  covered  his  eyes,  and 
fled  precipitately  behind  his  comrades,  where  he  could 


In  the  Shadow  of  the  Gallows  Tree        391 

no  longer  see.  Several  others  turned  their  backs  delib- 
erately. The  whole  thing  was  too  terrible.  It  was  hid- 
eous. 

Doc  Crombie  stood  with  folded  arms  within  two  yards 
of  the  prisoner.  Behind  the  prisoner  Smallbones  and 
the  rest  of  his  men  stood,  their  hands  grasping  the  plaited 
rope.  They  were  only  awaiting  the  silent  signal  from 
the  doctor. 

When  the  handkerchief  had  been  adjusted  the  man 
fell  in  beside  his  comrades  on  the  rope.  The  awful  mo- 
ment had  arrived  when  the  signal  must  be  given.  The 
tension  amongst  the  onlookers  was  breathless,  and  the 
agony  of  the  man  about  to  die  must  have  been  appalling,' 
in  spite  of  his  apparent  calm. 

The  moments  passed.  It  almost  seemed  as  though  the 
hardened  nerve  of  the  doctor  needed  support.  At  last 
he  stiffened.  He  raised  his  head,  and  looked  squarely  at 
the  pinioned  man. 

44  Jim  Thorpe,"  he  cried,  in  a  harsh,  unyielding  voice. 
"  You  are  condemned  to  die  by  the  ballot  of  your  fellow 
citizens,  for  the  murder  of  Will " 

44  Ho !  Ho,  Doc !  Hold  on !  For  God's  sake,  hold 
your  hand,  Doc  !  " 

A  great  hoarse  voice  split  the  deathly  stillness  with  a 
roar  that  suddenly  electrified  the  assembly.  Everybody 
swung  round  in  the  direction  whence  it  came,  That  is, 
everybody  but  the  doctor.  He  had  recognized  the  voice, 
and  he  had  caught  Smallbones'  gleaming  eye.  With  a 
spring  he  was  at  Jim's  side,  and  threw  the  noose  clear  of 
his  neck.  He  had  no  idea  of  the  reason  of  the  inter- 
ruption, but  he  had  caught  Smallbones'  eye. 

He  turned   about   in   time   to   see  Peter  Blunt  break 


392  The  One- Way  Trail 

through  the  crowd  bearing  in  his  arms  the  crippled 
brother  of  Eve  Henderson.  Following  close  upon  his 
heels  was  Eve  herself,  gasping  and  almost  fainting  with 
her  exertion. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE   PASSING   OF   ELIA 

PETER  BLUNT  paused,  staggered,  then  with  a  great  effort 
pulled  himself  together.  Mighty  man  as  he  was,  he  had 
reached  the  limits  of  his  strength,  for  he  had  run  nearly  a 
mile,  carrying  Elia  in  his  arms.  Eve  now  clung  to  his 
great  arm  for  support. 

Peter  set  the  boy  on  his  feet  and  supported  him.  A 
great  fear  was  in  him  that  a  perverse  fate  would  yet  rob 
them  of  justice.  Elia  was  dying,  and  he  knew  it.  He 
needed  no  examination  to  tell  him  so.  It  was  there, 
written  in  the  glazing  eyes,  in  the  hideous  blue  pallor 
stealing  over  the  lad's  face. 

"  We're  in  time,  laddie,"  he  said  hoarsely,  with  his 
mouth  close  to  Elia's  ear.  "  Speak  up  and  say  the  truth." 

Then  he  looked  up  to  encounter  the  keen  eyes  of  the 
doctor. 

"  What's  all  this  ?  "  the  latter  demanded  harshly.  But 
there  was  a  sudden  light  of  hope  in  his  fierce  eyes. 

"  It's  him.  He's  got  something  to  say.  It's  the  truth 
about  the  killing."  Peter  indicated  the  boy.  "  Speak  up, 
laddie,  they're  all  friends.  Speak  up — for  Jim's  sake." 
Eve  looked  on  with  hands  clasped.  She  was  still  breath- 
ing painfully  from  her  exertions. 

The  crowd  gathered  round.  All  but  Smallbones,  who 
never  for  a  moment  removed  his  eyes  from  Jim's  face.  It 
was  a  bitter  moment  for  him.  He  felt  he  was  about  to  be 
robbed  of  his  prey,  and  he  resented  it  with  all  that  was 


394  The  One- Way  Trail 

mean  in  him.  But  Elia  did  not  speak.  His  eyes  were 
half  closed,  and  a  terrible  helplessness  seemed  to  have 
suddenly  seized  hold  of  him. 

Peter  urged  him  again  with  a  sinking  heart. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  tell  them,  laddie?  Aren't  you 
going  to  tell  them  all  you've  told  me — and  save  Jim  ?  " 

It  was  Jim's  voice  that  answered  him. 

"  Don't  bother  the  lad,"  he  said.  He  could  not  see,  but 
instinctively  he  knew  that  Elia  was  in  a  bad  way. 

Peter  caught  at  his  words. 

"Do  you  hear,  laddie?  That's  Jim  talking.  You've 
come  to  tell  the  truth  and  save  him.  They've  got  him  all 
bound  up,  and  the  rope's  hanging  over  him.  Eh  ?  I 
didn't  rightly  hear." 

He  had  seen  the  boy's  lips  move,  and  he  strove  by  every 
means  in  his  power  to  encourage  him  to  a  dying  effort. 

But  in  the  pause  that  followed  Smallbones'  mean  voice 
was  suddenly  heard. 

"  This  ain't  no  sort  o'  justice.  Wot's  these  folks  buttin' 
in  fer  ?  They've  stuffed  him  full  o'  lies  'cause  he's  sick  an1 
dying.  I  tell  yer  it's  a  trick,  an'  when  he  speaks  it'll  be  to 
tell  his  usual  lies " 

"  It  ain't  lies,  I  tell  yer  it  ain't  lies."  It  was  Elia  speak- 
ing, suddenly  roused  from  his  stupor  by  the  vicious  charge. 
His  words  came  in  a  high,  shrill  voice.  "  I  don't  need  to 
tell  no  lies.  I  killed  Will  Henderson.  I  killed  him  !  I 
killed  him  !  He's  kicked  me  to  death,  an'  I  killed  him  with 
Jim's  knife.  It  was  lyin'  ther'  wher'  he'd  left  it  after  he'd 
fixed  them  rags  on  his  face.  I  killed  him,  I  tell  yer. 
An'  I'm  glad.  'Cos  I — I — hate  him,  an' — he's — killed — 
me." 

The  boy's  voice  had  risen  to  a  shriek,  and  then  died 


The  Passing  of  Elia  395 

suddenly  away  to  a  whisper  as  he  fell  back  into  Peter's 
arms.  It  was  the  final  effort,  which  Peter  had  been  unable 
to  rouse  him  to,  but  which,  to  his  own  chagrin,  Small- 
bones  had  achieved. 

The  boy  was  dead.  The  one  honest  action  of  his  life 
had  been  performed  with  his  last  breath.  Such  was  the 
overmastering  cruelty  of  his  nature  that,  in  comparative 
health,  and  with  all  his  faculties  alert,  the  one  spark  of 
good,  somewhere  deep  down  in  his  heart,  had  had  no 
power  to  shine.  The  flesh  had  been  too  strong  for  him 
— and  now,  now  perhaps  he  had  fulfilled  his  mission,  and 
that  one  little  step  forward  would  carry  him  beyond  the 
jaws  of  evil  which  had  been  so  tightly  shut  about  his  poor, 
weakly  spirit.  Peter  laid  him  gently  upon  the  ground. 

Then  he  stood  up  about  to  speak.  There  were  tears 
in  his  eyes,  and  without  shame  he  dashed  them  away 
with  the  back  of  his  hand.  But  Eve  stayed  him  with  a 
gesture.  She  took  a  step  forward.  Her  eyes  were  shin- 
ing as  she  glanced  round  upon  the  familiar  faces.  Her 
mind  was  made  up.  There  was  no  shrinking  now  at  the 
disgrace  she  had  in  her  cowardice  so  feared  before.  Jim 
had  shown  her  the  way  to  a  loyal  courage.  She  under- 
stood now  why  he  had  gone  to  his  death  shielding  the 
real  murderer.  He  had  done  it  to  save  her,  he  had  done 
it  as  once  before  he  had  sought  to  help  her.  She  loved 
him,  and  no  longer  feared  to  tread  the  path  he  had  so 
willingly,  so  readily  trodden  for  her  sake. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  all  the  things  that  I  should  have 
told  you  long  ago,"  she  began,  in  clear  ringing  tones, "  but 
I  couldn't,  because — because  he  was  my  husband." 

A  startled  sound  went  round  the  listeners.  The 
doctor's  eyes  flashed  suddenly  in  Jim's  direction.  But 


396  The  One-Way  Trail 

before  she  could  continue,  the  latter  suddenly  urged  her 
to  silence. 

"  There's  no  need  to  speak  of  him,  Eve/'  he  cried. 
"  Leave  it  to  me,  and  I'll  tell  them  how  Will  came  by  his 
death — now." 

But  the  doctor  interfered.  He  signed  to  one  of  the 
men  to  release  the  prisoner. 

"  We'll  have  Mrs.  Henderson's  story  first,"  he  said  de- 
cidedly. "  You'll  please  get  right  ahead,  ma'am." 

There  was  just  the  briefest  possible  hesitation.  For  a 
second  Eve's  eyes  wandered  over  the  faces  now  gathered 
so  closely  about.  It  was  not  that  she  was  any  longer 
afraid.  It  was  merely  that  she  looked  for  one  friendly 
glance.  She  found  it  in  the  round  face  of  Angel  Gay. 
He  was  smiling  on  her.  And  at  once  she  plunged  into 
her  story. 

"  Will  Henderson — my  husband,  was  the  cattle-thief," 
she  said.  And  for  a  moment  she  could  go  no  further. 
Had  she  desired  to  create  a  sensation,  she  amply  suc- 
ceeded. The  doctor  had  to  call  for  silence  so  that  she 
might  proceed. 

Having  made  the  plunge,  her  story  came  clearly  and 
concisely.  She  told  everything  without  sparing  either  her- 
self or  her  husband.  She  began  from  the  time  when  Will 
had  been  ordered  out  of  Barnriff,  and  told  all  the  pitiful, 
sordid  details,  right  down  to  his  final  return  after  es- 
caping from  the  doctor's  men  at  the  Little  Bluff  River. 
Everything  she  told  as  she  knew  it,  except  the  part  Jim 
had  played  in  his  actual  escape.  This  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  speak  of. 

The  story  took  some  time  in  the  telling,  but  there  was 
not  a  man  amongst  those  assembled  that  did  not  hungrily 


The  Passing  of  Elia  397 

take  in  every  detail  of  it.  And  as  it  unrolled,  to  the  final 
scene  of  Will's  return,  when  again  he  ill-used  her  and  de- 
parted in  search  of  Elia  to  kill  him,  and  his  final  promise 
to  return  later  and  kill  her,  a  fierce  light  of  understanding 
grew  on  the  swarthy,  rough  faces,  and  muttered  impreca- 
tions flew  from  lip  to  lip.  All  bitterness  for  Jim  had 
passed  from  their  thoughts,  all  except,  perhaps,  from  the 
thoughts  of  Smallbones. 

And  Jim  remained  silent  all  the  time.  He,  too,  was 
listening.  He,  too,  shared  again  in  the  thoughts  which  now 
assailed  the  others.  The  hideous  brutality,  as  it  appearedf 
told  in  Eve's  simple  words,  set  his  blood  boiling  afresh 
against  the  dead  man.  Though  he  knew  it  all  only  too  well, 
it  still  had  power  to  rouse  the  worst  side  of  his  nature. 

At  the  conclusion,  Doc  Crombie  suddenly  turned  to 
Jim.  He  offered  no  comment,  no  sympathy. 

"  Now,  I  guess,  you'll  talk  some,"  he  said,  in  his  usual 
harsh  tone.  But  somehow  his  words  seemed  to  contain  a 
smile. 

"  The  boy  has  told  you  who  killed  Will  Henderson," 
Jim  answered  at  once.  "  I  can't,  because  I  didn't  see  him 
killed.  I'll  tell  you  the  part  I  had  in  the  affair.  It's  not 
pretty."  He  paused,  but  went  on  almost  at  once.  "  I 
happened  along  to  Mrs.  Henderson's  house  directly  I 
came  in  to  town.  I  had  news  for  her.  You  know  the 
news.  Will  had  escaped." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Smallbones,  unable  to  keep  silent  longer, 
"  because  you  helped  him,  an'  bluffed  the  Doc.  Oh,  I'm 
wise  to  you." 

"You  look  wise  to  a  good  deal,"  retorted  Jim,  with  a 
cold  smile.  Then  without  further  concern  he  went  on 
with  his  story.  "  I  came  to  her  house  and  found  her 


398  The  One-Way  Trail 

bound  and  gagged.  Will  had  not  long  left  her.  She 
told  me  what  had  happened,  that  he  had  gone  off  to  kill 
Elia,  and  I  rode  out  at  once  to  the  bluff.  1  found  Will 
kicking  the  life  out  of  the  poor  boy.  I  jumped  from  my 
horse  and  hit  him  with  my  fist.  I  frankly  admit  I  de- 
sired to  kill  him,  and  my  whole  intent  was  in  that  blow. 
He  fell  to  the  ground  with  his  jaw  badly  smashed,  and — 
and  I  was  glad.  I  left  him  there  and  looked  to  Elia.  He 
was  in  a  pretty  bad  way,  but  he  did  not  seem  so  bad  as  I 
now  realize  he  must  have  been.  However,  when  I  saw 
that  1  had  been  in  time  to  save  him,  my  anger  began  to 
pass,  and  I  felt  I  could  not  leave  the  wretched  man  lying 
there  with  his  wound  dripping,  and — well,  I  thought  I'd 
better  do  what  I  could  for  him.  So  I  sent  Elia  over  to 
my  horse — I  intended  that  he  should  ride  home — while  I 
fixed  Will's  face  up  some. 

"  Well,  I  had  nothing  much  to  do  it  with  except  my 
handkerchiefs,"  he  went  on,  "  so  I  knelt  down  beside  him, 
took  out  my  sheath-knife  and  ripped  up  my  white  hand- 
kerchief into  a  bandage  and  folded  my  neck-scarf  into  a 
pad,  and  bound  it  on  his  broken  jaw.  Then  I  got  up, 
and  now  I  know  I  must  have  left  my  knife  on  the  ground 
beside  him.  I  didn't  know  it  at  the  time.  Anyway,  I  left 
him  and  went  back  to  my  horse  expecting  to  find  Elia. 
But  he  was  not  there.  I  was  alarmed  at  once,  and  began 
to  search  round  for  him,  calling  at  the  same  time.  You 
see,  I  thought  he'd  maybe  collapsed  somewhere  near  by. 
But  I  got  no  answer,  and  so  circling  round  and  round  I 
again  came  to  where  Will  Henderson  was  lying.  At  first 
I  didn't  notice  anything,  it  was  fairly  dark  ;  then,  of  a  sud- 
den, I  saw  he  was  lying  on  his  back,  where  before  he  had 
been  on  his  side.  The  next  thing  was  that  I  realized  the 


The  Passing  of  Elia  399 

bandages  were  off  his  face.  Then,  as  I  knelt  down  beside 
him  again,  I  found  that — other.  My  knife  was  sticking 
up  in  his  chest.  Then  I  knew  the  reason  of  Elia's  ab- 
sence, and — what  he  had  done." 

Jim  ceased  speaking,  and  presently  his  eyes  sought 
Eve's  face  with  a  look  of  trouble  in  their  dark  depths.  He 
had  wanted  to  spare  her  all  this,  and  now  — 

The  doctor's  voice  was  questioning  him. 

"  And  you  come  right  into  the  village,  wher'  your  flavor 
was  mighty  strong,  to  tell  us  he  was  dead  ?  "  he  asked  al- 
most incredulously. 

Jim  shrugged.  All  eyes  were  upon  him,  silently  echo- 
ing their  leader's  question. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  hadn't  killed  him.  Besides, 
what  else  was  there  to  do?  The  evidence  was  damning 
anyway.  And  I  sure  couldn't  run  away.  I  guessed  I'd 
best  trust  to  circumstances.  Y'see  my  last  words  to  Mrs. 
Henderson  were  a  threat  to  kill  her  husband — if  he'd 
killed  Elia." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  Them  things  sure  may  have  influenced  you,  but " 

"  I  think  I  can  tell  you." 

Doc  Crombie  turned  at  the  interruption.  It  was  Eve 
who  spoke.  Her  eyes  were  shining,  and  she  looked  fear- 
lessly into  his  face. 

"  Yes,"  she  cried,  with  rising  emotion,  "  I  think  I  can 
ste  the  rest.  It  was  to  shield  Elia,  and,  shielding  him,  to 
save  me  from  pain  and  the  disgrace  which  he  knew  I  was 
too  cowardly  to  face.  He  did  it  as  he  did  that  other 
thing,  when  he  set  out  to  carry  a  warning  to  Will,  simply 
to  help  me,  and  save  me  from  my  troubles.  Oh,  doctor, 
haven't  you  heard  and  seen  sufficient  ?  Must  you  stand 


400  The  One-Way  Trail 

here  demanding  all  the  inmost  secrets  and  motives  of 
two  people's  lives  ?  Let  us  go.  Let  Jim  go.  I  have 
yet  to  bury  my  dead." 

The  woman  suddenly  turned  to  Peter  and  buried  her 
face  against  his  rough  flannel  shirt,  while  the  long-pent 
tears  at  last  broke  forth,  and  her  body  shook  with  sobs. 
Peter  put  his  arm  about  her  shoulders  and  patted  her 
gently  with  his  great  rough  hand. 

"  This  thing  is  played  right  out,  Doc,"  he  said.  "  You've 
got  the  facts.  Let  them  be  sufficient."  He  turned  to 
the  boys,  and  his  great  kindly  face  was  lit  with  something 
like  a  derisive  smile.  "  Do  you  want  a  hanging,  lads  ?  " 
he  asked  them.  "  Because,  out  of  all  this  racket,  it  seems 
to  me  there's  only  one  needs  the  rope,  an'  that's  Small- 
bones." 

He  needed  no  other  answer  than  the  harsh  laugh 
which  greeted  his  words.  He  had  done  it  purposely.  He 
meant  to  clip  Smallbones'  wings  for  him,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  put  an  end  to  the  scene  for  Eve  and  his  friend. 

His  success  was  ample.  Doc  Crombie  walked  straight 
up  to  Jim  Thorpe  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  things,  Jim,"  he  said,  "  but  you  can't 
rightly  blame  us.  Not  even  Smallbones." 

Jim  wrung  his  hand  cordially,  but  silently.  His  eyes 
were  still  on  Eve  at  Peter's  side.  The  doctor  saw  his 
look  and  understood. 

"  Guess  I'm  gettin'  right  back  to  the  city,"  he  said, 
"  And,"  he  added,  authoritatively,  "  I  guess  all  you'se 
folks  had  best  git  busy  that  way,  too."  Then  he  turned 
sharply  and  walked  over  to  his  buckboard.  "  Small- 
bones,"  he  said,  as  he  mounted  to  his  seat,  "  you'll  come 
right  along  in  with  me — an'  bring  that  rope." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

GOLD 

THE  gray  of  dawn  had  passed.  Now  the  rosy  light 
of  day  was  spreading  its  fresh  beauty  across  the  heavens, 
and  gladdening  the  warming  air,  and  painting  afresh 
with  generous  brush  the  rolling,  open  world  below. 

Yes,  the  drab  of  dawn  was  past,  and,  as  it  was  with  all 
Nature  about  them,  the  rosy  light  of  hope  brushed 
lightly  the  weary  hearts  of  those  who  had  just  passed 
through  the  fiery  trials  of  the  furnace  of  despair. 

There  v/ere  three  people  only  standing  beneath  the  tree, 
under  whose  shadow  a  man's  life  so  recently  was  to  have 
been  offered  a  sacrifice  to  human  justice — two  men  and 
a  woman.  There  was  something  else  there,  but  life  had 
passed  from  it,  and  it  lay  there  waiting,  in  the  calm  pa- 
tience of  the  last,  long  sleep,  to  return  to  the  clay  from 
which  it  sprang. 

Eve  was  kneeling  beside  the  deformed  body  of  her 
poor  brother.  Her  tears  were  falling  fast  as  she  bent 
over  the  pale  upturned  face,  even  more  beautiful  still 
since  Death  had  hugged  him  to  its  harsh  bosom.  All 
the  woman's  passionate  love  and  regrets  were  pouring 
out  over  the  unconscious  clay.  His  cruelties,  his  weak- 
nesses were  forgotten,  brushed  away  by  an  infinite  love 
that  had  no  power  nor  inclination  to  judge. 

She  loved  him,  and  he  was  dead.  He  was  gone  beyond 
her  ken  ;  and  for  the  moment  in  her  grief  she  longed  to 


402  The  One- Way  Trail 

be  with  him.  In  the  midst  of  her  tears  she  prayed — • 
prayed  for  the  poor  weak  soul,  winging  its  way  in  the 
mysterious  Beyond.  She  asked  Him  that  his  sins  might 
be  forgiven.  She  prayed  Him  that  the  great  loving  for- 
bearance, so  readily  yielded  to  suffering  humanity,  might 
be  shed  upon  that  weak,  benighted  soul.  She  poured 
out  all  the  longings  of  her  simple  woman's  heart  in  a 
passionate  prayer  that  the  Great  Christ,  who  had  shed 
His  blood  for  all  sinners,  would  stretch  out  His  saving 
hand,  and  take  her  brother's  erring  spirit  once  again  to 
His  bosom. 

The  two  men  stood  by  in  silence.  Their  heads  were 
bowed  in  reverence.  They,  too,  felt  something  of  the 
woman's  grief. 

But  presently  Peter  Blunt  raised  his  head.  His  kindly 
blue  eyes  were  full  of  sympathy.  He  moved  across  the 
intervening  grass,  and  laid  a  hand  with  infinite  tender- 
ness upon  the  woman's  shoulder. 

"  We  must  take  him  with  us,"  he  said  gently. 

The  woman  started,  and  looked  up  through  her  tears. 

"  Take  him  ?  Take  him  ?  "  she  questioned,  without 
understanding. 

Peter  nodded. 

"  We'll  take  him  to— his  new  home." 

Eve  bowed  her  head  and  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hands. 

"  He's  yours,  Eve,"  the  man  went  on  softly.  "  Shall 
I?" 

The  woman  nodded  silently  and  rose  to  her  feet. 
Peter  stooped  and  picked  the  boy  up  in  his  arms  to  carry 
him  as  he  had  carried  him  before.  Then  he  moved  off 
and  Eve  followed  him. 


Gold  403 

Jim  hesitated  for  a  moment.  It  almost  seemed  as 
though  he  had  no  right  to  force  himself  upon  the 
woman's  grief.  It  seemed  to  him  like  sacrilege,  and 
yet Finally  he,  too,  joined  in  the  silent  procession. 

They  followed  whither  Peter  chose  to  lead.  There 
was  no  question.  It  was  not  a  moment  for  question. 
The  kindly  heart  dictated.  It  was  only  for  the  others 
to  acquiesce.  Peter,  too,  perhaps  in  lesser  degree,  had 
loved  the  boy.  But  then  it  was  in  his  nature  to  love  all 
suffering  humanity.  He  had  never  had  anything  but  kind- 
ness for  Elia  in  life.  Now  that  he  was  dead  his  feelings 
were  no  less. 

So  they  trailed  across  the  prairie — on,  slowly  and 
solemnly  on.  Their  course  was  marked  straight  as  an 
arrow's  flight  in  Peter's  mind.  Nor  did  he  pause  till  the 
mound  of  gravel  beside  his  cutting  was  reached. 

He  stood  at  the  brink  of  the  shallow  pit.  There  in 
its  depths  lay  a  broad,  jagged,  soil-stained  ridge.  Here 
and  there  on  its  rough  surface  patches  of  dazzling  white, 
streaked  with  the  more  generous  tints  of  deep  red,  and 
blue,  and  green,  showed  where  the  hard-driven  pick  had 
split  the  gold-bearing  quartz. 

Eve  stared  wonderingly  down.  Jim  looked  on  in 
silent  awe.  He  knew  something  of  that  which  was  in 
Peter's  mind.  Peter  had  found  the  deposits  for  which 
he  had  so  long  searched.  Here — here  was  the  great 
reef,  round  which  the  Indian  stories  had  been  woven. 

He  laid  his  burden  on  the  edge  of  the  pit.  Then  he 
clambered  down  into  it.  He  signed  to  Jim,  and  the 
waiting  man  understood.  He  carefully  passed  the  boy's 
body  to  the  man  below. 

Then  he  stood  up,  and  Eve  came  to  his  side.     Silently 


404  The  One- Way  Trail 

she  rested  one  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  together  they 
watched  the  other  at  his  work. 

With  the  utmost  tenderness  Peter  laid  the  boy  down 
on  his  gravelly  bed.  They  saw  that  the  dead  lad's  face 
was  turned  so  that  its  cheek  rested  against  the  cold, 
auriferous  quartz.  Then  the  man  untied  the  silk  scarf 
about  his  own  neck  and  laid  it  over  the  waxen  face. 
Then  he  stood  up  and  stripped  the  shoring  planks  from 
the  wails  of  the  pit,  and  placed  them  a  solid  covering 
over  the  boy's  body,  resting  them  on  two  large  stones, 
one  at  his  head  and  one  at  his  feet.  Finally  he  tested 
sheir  solidity,  and  climbed  out  of  the  grave. 

Now  he  joined  the  others,  and  gazed  silently  down  into 
the  pit.  For  some  moments  he  stood  thus,  until  presently 
he  glanced  across  at  the  eastern  sky.  A  fiery  line,  like 
the  light  of  a  distant  prairie  fire,  hovered  upon  the 
horizon.  He  knew  it  was  the  rising  of  the  sun. 

He  turned  to  the  still  weeping  woman. 

"  Little  Eve,"  he  said  gently,  pointing  into  the  pit. 
« There's  gold  lies  there.  He  wanted  it,  and— and  I 
promised  he  should  have  it.  Jim,"  he  turned,  and  looked 
into  the  dark  eyes  of  his  friend,  "  that  poor,  weak,  suffer- 
ing lad  saved  you,  because — because  you'd  been  good  to 
him.  Well,  old  lad,  I  guess  now  that  we've  found  some 
of  the  gold  that  lies  here  in  Barnriff,  we — we  must  be 
content.  We  mustn't  take  it  with  us,  we  mustn't  rob 
those  who  need.  We've  found  it,  so  we'll  just  cover  it 
up  again,  and  hope  and  pray  that  it  may  multiply  and 
bear  fruit.  Then  we'll  mark  it  with  a  headstone,  so  that 
others  may  know  that  this  gold  is  to  be  found  if  folks 
will  only  seek  long  enough,  and  hard  enough  beneath  the 
surface." 


Gold  405 

Jim  nodded.     He  understood. 

Then,  as  the  great  arc  of  the  morning  sun  lifted  above 
the  horizon,  both  men  picked  up  the  shovels  lying  close 
by  them,  and  buried  forever  the  treasure  Peter  had 
found. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

ON,    OVER   THE    ONE-WAY   TRAIL 

EVE'S  door  was  suddenly  pushed  open.  She  did  not 
look  up  from  her  sewing-machine.  She  guessed  who 
her  visitor  was. 

"  Sit  down,  Annie,  dear/'  she  said,  cordially.  "  I'll  be 
through  with  this  in  a  moment." 

Her  visitor  took  the  proffered  chair  and  smiled,  while 
the  busy  machine  rattled  down  the  last  seam  of  the  skirt 
on  which  the  other  was  busy. 

Eve  was  very  good  to  look  upon,  as  she  bent  over 
her  work,  and  her  visitor  was  well  content  to  wait.  Her 
slight  figure  was  delightfully  gracious ;  her  pretty  hair, 
loosely  dressed,  looked  to  have  all  the  velvet  softness  and 
lustre  of  spun  silk.  Her  face  was  hidden,  but  the  beauti- 
fully moulded  outline  of  her  cheek  was  visible.  There 
was  such  a  wholesome  air  of  purpose  in  her  attitude  that 
it  was  quite  easy  to  imagine  that  the  shadows  of  the  past 
had  long  since  faded  from  her  gentle  eyes,  that  youth 
had  again  conquered,  now  that  those  gray  days  had 
lightened  to  the  rosy  summer  of  peace. 

Something  of  this  was  passing  through  the  man's  mind 
as  he  hungrily  devoured  the  beauty,  which  for  so  long 
had  held  him  its  slave. 

It  was  nearly  two  months  since  the  happenings  which 
had  so  nearly  ended  Jim  Thorpe's  earthly  career.  Two 
months  during  which  he  had  honestly  struggled  to  regain 


On,  Over  the  One-  Way  Trail  407 


that  footing  he  had  once  held  in  the  district.     And 
the  fall  was  advancing,  and  the  hopes  of  winning  through 
with  the  people  of  the  place  seemed  as  far  off  as  ever. 

Prejudice  still  clung.  Barnriff,  willing  enough  to  ac- 
cept his  actual  innocence  on  the  double  charges  made 
against  him,  still  could  not  forget  that  he  had  helped  the 
real  thief  to  escape.  It  mattered  nothing  to  them  that 
in  the  end  the  man  had  died  a  violent  death.  He  had 
been  helped  to  escape  —  their  justice.  So  there  was  no 
employment  of  any  sort  in  Barnriff  for  Jim  Thorpe.  And 
Eve,  too,  was  only  completing  orders  which  had  been 
placed  with  her  weeks  before. 

"  There,"  she  said,  raising  her  needle  and  removing 
the  stuff  from  beneath  it.  "  I  hate  it,  and  I'm  glad  it's 
done." 

She  looked  up  with  a  smile  to  encounter  the  dark  eyes 
of  Jim  Thorpe. 

"  You  ?  "  she  cried,  in  a  tone  that  should  have  made 
him  glad.  "  Why,  I  thought  surely  it  was  Annie.  But 
there,  I  might  have  known.  Annie  would  not  have  sat 
silent  so  long.  You  see  she  was  coming  over  for  a  gossip. 
But  I  s'pose  it's  too  early  for  her." 

Jim  noticed  now  that  something  of  the  old  happy  light 
was  in  her  eyes  again.  That  joyous  light  which  he  had 
not  seen  in  them  for  nearly  a  year.  What  a  wonderful 
thing  was  youth. 

"  I  saw  her  as  I  came  along,"  he  said  slowly.  "  She 
said  she'd  come  after  supper.  She  sent  her  love,  and  said 
she  was  going  to  bring  a  shirt-waist  to  get  fixed." 

"  The  dear  thing  !  It's  the  one  thing  that  makes  my 
life  here  possible,  Jim.  I  mean  her  friendship.  She's  the 
only  one  in  all  the  village  that  can  forget  things.  I  mean 


408  The  One- Way  Trail 

among  the  women."  She  came  round  the  table  and  sat 
on  its  edge  facing  him,  staring  out  of  the  window  at  the 
ruddy  sunset  with  eyes  that  had  suddenly  become 
shadowed  with  regret.  "  Men  aren't  like  that,  it  seems 
to  me.  They're  fierce,  and  violent,  and  all  that,  but 
most  of  them  have  pretty  big  hearts  when  their  anger 
is  past." 

Jim's  eyes  smiled  whimsically. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  he  said.  "  Guess  maybe  I  won't 
contradict  you,  but  it  seems  to  me  I've  learned  pretty  well 
how  large  their  hearts  are — in  the  last  two  months." 

"  You  mean — you  can  get  no  work  ?  " 

The  man  nodded.  But  he  had  no  bitterness  now. 
He  had  learned  his  lesson  from  Peter  Blunt.  He  had  no 
blame  for  the  weaknesses  of  human  nature.  Why  should 
he  have  ?  Who  was  he  to  judge  ? 

There  was  a  silence  for  some  moments.  Eve  con- 
tinued to  gaze  at  the  sunset.  The  glorious  ever-chang- 
ing lights  held  her  physical  vision,  but  her  mind  was 
traveling  in  that  realm  of  woman's  thought,  whither  no 
mere  man  can  follow  it. 

It  was  Jim  who  spoke  at  last. 

"  But  I  didn't  come  to — to  air  troubles,"  he  said 
thoughtfully.  "  I  came  to  tell  you  of  two  things.  One 
of  'em  is  Peter.  He's  packing  his  wagon.  He  goes  at 
sun-up  to-morrow.  He  says  he  must  move  on — keep 
moving.  He  says  all  that  held  him  to  Barnriff  is  fin- 
ished with,  so  now  there's  nothing  left  but  to  hit  the 
trail." 

"  Poor  old  Peter  !  "  Eve  murmured  softly.  "  I  s'pose 
he  means  the  gold  business  ?  " 

"  Maybe,"  replied  the  man,  without  conviction. 


We've  just  come  over  to  say,  we,  too,  are  going  to  hit  the  trail." 

Paae  410. 
The  One-Wai)  Trait 


On,  Over  the  One- Way  Trail  409 

"  Why — what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Eve's  eyes  were  widely  questioning.  The  other 
shrugged. 

"  You  can't  tell.  It's  hard  to  get  at  what's  passing 
through  his  quaint  mind.  I  don't  think  gold  interests 
him  as  much  as  you'd  think.  Peter  has  plenty  of  money. 
Do  you  know,  he  offered  to  advance  me  ten  thousand 
dollars  to  buy  up  a  ranch  around  here.  He  pressed  it  on 
me,  and  tried  to  make  out  it  would  be  a  favor  to  him  if  I 
took  it.  Said  I  didn't  know  how  much  I'd  be  obliging 
him.  He's  a  good  man.  A — a  wonderful  man.  I  tried 
to  get  him  to  stop  on — but " 

"  I  don't  blame  him  for  going,"  said  Eve,  regret- 
fully. 

"  Nor  do  I." 

Again  that  silence  fell,  and  each  was  busy  with  thoughts 
they  neither  could  easily  have  expressed. 

"  What's  the  other  ?  "  Eve  inquired  presently.  "  You 
said — two  things." 

"  Did  I  ?     Oh,  yes,  of  course." 

But  Jim  did  not  at  once  tell  her  the  other  reason  for 
his  visit.  Instead  he  sat  thinking  of  many  things,  and  all 
his  thoughts  were  centred  round  her.  He  was  thinking 
the  honest  thoughts  of  a  man  who  loves  a  woman  so  well 
that  he  shrinks  from  offering  her  so  little  of  worldly 
goods  as  he  possesses.  He  had  come  there,  as  a  man 
will  come,  to  hover  round  and  burn  his  fingers  at  the  fire 
which  he  has  not  the  courage  to  turn  his  back  upon.  He 
had  come  there  to  tell  her  that  he  was  going  away, 
even  as  Peter  was  going — going  away  to  make  one  more 
of  those  many  starts  which  it  had  been  his  lot  to  make  in 
the  past. 


410  The  One- Way  Trail 

"  Well  ?  "  Eve  faced  him  with  smiling  eyes.  She  un- 
derstood that  his  second  reason  was  troubling  him,  and 
she  wanted  to  encourage  him. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  It  isn't  a  scrap  «  well/  "  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  a 
lightness  he  did  not  feel. 

"  Nothing  can  be  so  bad,  as — as  some  things,"  she  said. 
Her  eyes  had  become  serious  again.  She  was  thinking 
of  those  two  short  months  ago. 

"  No,"  he  breathed,  with  a  sigh.  "  I — I  suppose  not." 
Then  with  a  desperate  effort  he  blurted  out  his  resolve. 
"  I'm  going  away,  too,"  he  said  clumsily. 

His  announcement  cost  him  more  than  he  knew.  But 
Eve  showed  not  the  least  bit  of  astonishment. 

"  I  knew  you  would,"  she  said.  Then  she  added,  as 
though  following  out  a  thought  which  had  been  hers  for 
a  long  time,  "  You  see  there  are  some  things  nobody 
can  put  up  with — for  long.  Barnriff,  for  instance,  when 
it  turns  against  you." 

Jim  nodded.  Her  understanding  delighted  him,  and 
he  went  on  more  easily. 

"  I've  one  hunded  and  fifty  head  of  stock,  and  a  thou- 
sand odd  dollars,"  he  said  deliberately.  "  I'm  going  to 
make  a  fresh  start." 

He  laughed,  and  somehow  his  laugh  hurt  the  woman. 
She  understood. 

"  Don't  laugh  like  that,  Jim,"  she  said  gently.  "  It's— 
it's  not  like  you." 

"  I'm  sorry,  Eve,"  he  replied  in  swift  contrition.  "  But 
• — but  it's  not  much,  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  seem  to  fancy  it's  quite  a  deal."  The  girl's  face 
wore  a  delightful  smile.  "  Where  are  you  thinking  of?" 


On,  Over  the  One-Way  Trail  411 

"  Canada.  Edmonton.  It's  a  longish  piece  off,  but  it's 
good  land — and  cheap." 

"it's  British." 

"  Ye-es." 

"  It's  not  under  the  '  stars  and  stripes.'  " 

"  Most  flags  are  made  of  bunting." 

The  girl  nodded  her  head. 

"  A  monarchy,  too,"  she  said. 

"  Monarchs  and  presidents  are  both  men." 

Jim's  love  for  his  flag  was  a  sore  point  with  him,  and 
he  gathered  that  Eve  disapproved.  He  wanted  her  ap- 
proval. He  wanted  it  more  than  anything  else,  be- 
cause   Suddenly  he  remembered  something. 

"  Peter's  English,"  he  said  slyly. 

"  God  bless  him  !  " 

The  fervor  of  the  woman's  response  was  unmistakable. 

" 1  must  see  him  to-night  before  he  goes,"  she  went  on, 
"  because — I've  got  something  to  tell  him." 

She  looked  down  at  the  table  on  which  the  dress  she 
had  just  finished  making  was  lying. 

"  That's  the  last  of  them,"  she  said,  pointing  at  it. 

The  man  knew  what  she  meant.  She  had  completed 
her  last  order. 

"  I'm  going  to  do  no  more — here." 

Jim's  eyes  lit. 

"Here?" 

Eve  shook  her  head. 

"  I'm  going  away,"  she  said,  with  a  shamefaced  smile. 
"  That's— that's  what  I  want  to  tell— Peter." 

Jim  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  looked  into  the  bright 
smiling  eyes. 

"  I've  got  a  sewing-machine,"  Eve  went  on,  deliberately 


412  The  One-Way  Trail 

mimicking  him,  "  and — and  some  dollars.  And  I'm  go- 
ing to  make  a  fresh  start." 

Her  manner  of  detailing  her  stock-in-trade,  and  the 
smile  that  accompanied  her  words  were  good  to  see. 
Jim's  heart  beat  hard  beneath  his  buckskin  shirt,  and  the 
light  in  his  eyes  was  one  of  a  hope  such  as  he  rarely  per- 
mitted himself. 

"  Where  ?  "  he  demanded.  But  he  knew  before  she 
said  the  words. 

"  Canada,  Edmonton.  It's — it's  a  longish  piece  off — 
but " 

Eve  never  finished  her  mimicry.  In  a  moment  she 
was  in  his  arms,  and  her  lips  were  silenced  with  his 
kisses. 

Some  minutes  later  she  protested. 

"  You  haven't  let  me  finish,  Jim,"  she  cried. 

But  he  shook  his  head. 

"  No  need.  I'll  tell  you  the  rest.  We'll  start  in  to- 
gether, up  there,  and — we'll  keep  the  sewing-machine  for 
home  ude.  You  see  my  socks  '11  sure  need  darning." 

"  Silly.     You  don't  do  that  with  a  sewing-machine." 

Peter's  spring  wagon  was  standing  outside  his  door. 
It  was  a  quaint,  old-fashioned  vehicle — just  such  a  con- 
veyance as  one  would  expect  him  to  possess.  It  had 
lain  idle  during  most  of  his  time  in  Barnriff,  and  had  suf- 
fered much  from  the  stress  of  bitter  winters  and  the  blis- 
tering sun  of  summers.  But  it  still  possessed  four  clat- 
tering wheels,  even  though  the  woodwork  and  the  tires 
looked  conspicuously  like  parting  company. 

The  last  of  his  household  goods,  with  the  exception  of 
his  blankets,  had  been  loaded  up.  There  was  a  confused 


On,  Over  the  One- Way  Trail  413 

pile  of  gold-prospecting  tools  and  domestic  chattels. 
Books  and  "  washing "  pans,  pictures  and  steel  drills, 
jostled  with  each  other  in  a  manner  thoroughly  charac- 
teristic of  his  disregard  for  the  comforts  of  life.  These 
material  matters  concerned  him  so  little. 

He  was  scraping  out  a  large  frying-pan,  the  one  utensil 
which  shared  with  his  "  billy  "  the  privilege  of  supplying 
him  with  a  means  of  cooking  his  food.  The  work  he 
was  engaged  upon  was  something  of  a  strain.  It  seemed 
so  unnecessary.  Still,  the  process  was  his  habit  of  years, 
so  he  did  not  attempt  to  shirk  it.  But  he  looked  up  with 
relief  when  he  heard  voices,  and  a  glad  smile  of  welcome 
greeted  Jim  and  Eve  as  they  came  up. 

"  Peter,  I've " 

"  Peter,  we've " 

Jim  and  Eve  both  began  to  speak  at  the  same  time. 
And  both  broke  off  to  let  the  other  go  on. 

Peter  glanced  swiftly  from  one  to  the  other.  His 
shrewd  eyes  took  in  the  situation  at  once. 

"  I'm  glad,"  he  said,  "  real  glad.  Jim,"  he  went  on,  "  I 
guess  your  luck's  set  in.  Eve,  my  dear,  your  luck's  run- 
ning, too.  I'm  just  glad." 

The  culprits  exchanged  swift  glances  of  astonishment. 
Eve  blushed,  but  it  was  Jim  who  answered  him. 

"  Guess  you  see  things  easy,  Peter,"  he  said.  "  But 
you  aren't  as  glad  as  I  am." 

"  We  are,"  corrected  Eve. 

Peter  bent  over  his  work  again,  smiling  at  the  friendly 
pan  with  renewed  interest.  He  scraped  some  long  con- 
gealed black  grease  from  its  shoulder  and  gazed  at  it 
ruefully. 

"  Look  at  that,"  he  said,  with  his  quaint  smile,  holding 


414  The  One- Way  Trail 

up  the  knife  with  the  unwholesome  fat  sticking  to  it. 
"  Guess  your  pans  won't  get  like  that,  eh,  Eve?  "  Then 
he  added  with  a  sigh,  "  It's  sure  time  I  hit  the  trail.  It's 
been  accumulating  too  long  already.  Y'see,"  he  went  on 
simply,  "  it's  a  good  thing  moving  at  times.  Things  need 
cleaning  once  in  a  while." 

He  threw  the  pan  into  the  wagon-box  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  and  turned  again  to  his  two  friends. 

"  I'd  ask  you  to  sit,"  he  began.  But  Jim  cut  him 
short. 

.  "  There's  no  need,  old  friend.  We've  just  come  over 
to  say  we,  too,  are  going  to  hit  the  trail.  We're  going 
to  hit  it  together." 

Peter  nodded. 

"  We're  going  to  get  the  parson  to  marry  us,"  Jim 
went  on  eagerly,  "  and  then  we're  going  to  hit  out  for 
Canada — Edmonton — and  start  up  a  bit  of  a  one-eyed 
ranch." 

Peter  stood  lost  in  thought,  and  Jim  grew  impatient. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  inquired.     "  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

The  other  nodded  slowly,  his  eyes  twinkling. 

"  Bully,  but  you'll  need  a  wagon  to  drive  you  out — 
when  you're  getting  married,"  he  said.  "  That's  how  I 
was  thinking.  Guess  I'll  drive  you  out  in  mine,  eh  ?  " 

"  But  you're  going  at  sun-up,"  cried  Eve,  in  dismay. 
"  We — we  can't  get  married  so  soon." 

"  Guess  I'll  wait  over,"  Peter  answered  easily.  "  It 
just  means  off-loading — and  then  loading  up  again.  My 
frying-pan  can  have  another  cleaning.' 

"  Thanks,  old  friend,"  cried  Jim,  linking  his  arm  in 
Eve's.  "  You're  a  great  feller.  You'll  see  us — married." 
He  squeezed  the  girl's  arm.  "  And  then  ?  " 


On,  Over  the  One- Way  Trail  415 

"  And  then  ?  " 

Peter  looked  away  at  the  dying  light.  His  eyes  were 
full  of  the  kindly  thought  his  two  friends  knew  so  well. 

"  Why,  I'll  just  hit  the  trail  again,"  he  said. 

"  Where  to  ?  " 

The  big  man  turned  his  face  slowly  toward  them,  and 
his  gentle  humor  was  largely  written  in  his  expressive 
eyes. 

"  Why,  Canada,  I  guess,"  he  said.  "  Edmonton — it 
seems  to  me." 


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